Rm w a Vu
by AngelGoddess1981
Summary: Bella's a struggling student at AZ State who finds her boyfriend in bed with her roomie. Unable to look at them, she moves out. When another dorm room cannot be found, Bella takes to the classifieds. Just how good is the view being advertised? Romance/Humor/Drama
1. Just My Luck

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/a Vu_ are mine.**

So, back when I was writing _**Horse Play**_ (lol, I make it sound like it was EONS ago), I decided to let my kick-ass readers decide the next fic after **_Chosen by Blood_** and **_Covet Thy Neighbor_** by participating in a poll on my FFn profile. Well, now is the time to see what it is a majority of you all voted for!

**_Covet Thy Neighbor_** is very much still being worked on, and I am loving every minute with those three, but this story was begging to be told.

So, without further ado, I give you chapter one to my next story . . .

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><p><strong>Chapter One. Just My Luck<strong>

_Ugh_. My neck is positively aching, and I let my heavy, book-filled backpack fall from my shoulder to relieve it as I prepare to exit my last class of the day. Why I chose to take on such an intense course-load is beyond me—I guess my anxiousness to finish college and start my career as soon as possible could have factored in at some point.

Regardless of my reasoning, it's what I chose, and I am suffering the repercussions now in my sophomore year at Arizona State.

As I stumble down the last few steps, My English prof, Professor Berty, calls me over to his desk and hands me my latest paper. I groan when I see the giant red "B–" that's written at the top of the page as well as all the little notes and comments. Considering I want to get a job within a publishing house, I can't exactly afford my marks to keep declining the way they have been. I already know I'm going to have to study my ass off for midterms coming up right away, which is going to piss Jake off since I'll be locking myself away more than I already have been.

"Not your best work, Miss Swan," Berty tells me.

I refrain from rolling my eyes at him, nodding solemnly instead. "I know."

"What happened?"

It's clear that he doesn't really care, but I decide to answer him anyway. "I guess I'm just feeling overwhelmed by my courses this semester. I'll work harder, I promise."

Berty acknowledges me with a nod and then waves me away.

Shoving the paper into my bag and throwing it over my other shoulder, I think about what I'm going to tell Jake. He isn't going to be happy that I'm cancelling our movie date tonight—especially since it will be our first one in weeks, and I took the night off from work so we could spend some time together.

_At least he's been understanding about it,_ I tell myself as I head outside the main building and toward the dorms. As I make my way, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial Jake's number to let him know I have to stay in and study. It sucks, because I was really looking forward to seeing anything that's not the inside of a textbook.

There's no answer, leading me to believe he's probably on his way over and I'll have to cancel our date face-to-face, which will probably irritate him because he'll have come all this way just to go back home. With a sigh, I enter the building that my room is in and trudge down the hall. The closer I get to the door of the room I share with this year's roomie, Leah, I can clearly make out what sounds like breathless moans coming from inside. This isn't new; Leah has a reputation, and apparently she feels the need to uphold it.

Annoyance flares up because I can't just walk into the room. Well, I suppose I could, but walking in on someone having sex isn't something I particularly enjoy doing—just ask my therapist. I'm pretty sure I still suffer from a mild case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after seeing my mom and dad on the kitchen counter the last time I swung by the house to say hi.

You can bet your ass I called from that point on . . .

Dropping my book bag to the floor with a heavy thud, I lean against the wall, sliding down until I'm sitting on the hard tile with my elbows on my knees and my hands in my hair. Other students walk by, going to and from their rooms and the washrooms, and every time one of them looks down at me, I feel like an animal on display at the zoo. They probably think I've locked myself out. Of course, if they know my roommate—which most of the male population does—they know what's really going on.

The sounds coming from behind the thin door are escalating. People are staring, not just at me now, but at the door too. Warmth blooms beneath the skin on my face, and I offer each and every one of them a shrug, only to be met with sympathetic eyes. If I could afford private housing, I would be there in a second.

"_Oh, yes!"_ I clench my eyes shut upon hearing Leah's mounting cries. _"Fuck me harder! Oh, you like it dirty, huh, big boy?"_

_Sweet Jesus_. I know Leah is a little freaky, but I didn't think she was into reenacting bad porn.

As if hearing her cry out in the throes of whatever-the-hell it is she's doing isn't enough, I'm now being subjected to the low, guttural grunts of her male partner. I try to think of who it could be, but I've seen so many guys pass through that door that I really have no idea. I bury my face in my hands, gripping my hair at the roots and tapping my foot against the crappy tile rapidly, trying to think of more pleasant things than what's really going on in there.

"_Oh . . . oh . . . OOOOOOOH!" _

_Aaaaaaaand, she's done. _Lifting my face from my knees, I smooth down the front of my hair because I know it's probably standing up from the rough tugging. This won't be the last time something like this will happen, and I know I should look into moving rooms. I wait a few minutes, really enjoying the silence coming from our room as I assume they're getting dressed; I only make this assumption because Leah seems about as cuddly as a porcupine.

Finally, Leah's laugh is heard from behind the door, and it sounds like she's getting ready to kick her latest tryst out. _"That was great. I don't know why we don't do this more often."_ It sounds like she's getting closer to the door. I don't want her to think that I've been out here eavesdropping like some kind of pervert, so I stand up and try to make it look like I've just got impeccable timing.

I grab the shoulder strap to my book bag, lifting it at the exact moment that the door swings open. What I see on the other side stuns me. Or should I say _who_…?

"J—Jake?" I blink because I must be seeing things, but when I open my eyes again and again, I'm staring directly into the faces of my _bitch_ of a roommate and my lying, sack of shit boyfriend. "What the hell?"

"Hey, baby," he says, smiling suddenly. His eyes still show just how shocked he is to find me here. Outside _my_ room. "I came by to see you. Leah and I got to talking."

"I was in class. You knew that." I don't think I've blinked again, and my eyes are drying out.

Jake scratches the back of his neck, dropping his gaze from me. "Oh, yeah. Well, I thought you'd be do—"

"WHAT THE HELL?" I shout, cutting him off before he can feed me some lame-ass excuse.

"Uh . . . uh," he stammers, looking back at Leah and then me again.

Rage courses through my veins, and I let my bag fall from my shoulder, catching the strap in my hand and swinging it at him. It connects with his shoulder even though he tries to shield himself from it. "You lying, cheating sack of _shit_!" I look at Leah and point, my eyes narrowing and my nose scrunching up as my lips curl up into a snarl. "And you. You fucking bitch."

"Bella," she says, holding her hands up because I'm sure she thinks I'm going to assault her with my heavy book bag next. The thought never crosses my mind, though. Strangling her? Well, that's another story . . . "It's not what you think."

I laugh dryly, just once. "Oh, it's not? Well, I feel pretty damn foolish, then," I say, stepping into the room and flinging my bag on my bed. Jake seems almost relieved, like Leah's really been able to convince me that damn quickly. I'm sure to nip that shit in the bud immediately.

Crossing my arms, I turn to them and sneer. "So," I say, "you like it dirty . . . _big boy_?" I can see Jake swallow thickly. "Yeah. _That's _what I thought. Seems I was exactly right."

"Bella . . ." His tone is soft, like he's trying to appeal to some part of me that will take him back. Won't he be surprised to find that no such part exists?

Shaking my head, I walk to my dresser to grab a few things. "Save it. You two are perfect for each other. I'm out of here. Leah, the room's yours. Have a nice fucking life." The double entendre isn't intended, but it's more than fitting. "I'll be back for the rest of my stuff as soon as I've made other arrangements. Touch any of it, and you'll wish you hadn't. You've already taken something of mine; I'd say I've been more than generous."

I throw my bag back over my shoulder and stalk toward the still-open door. People are no longer walking by; they're standing in the doorway, blocking my escape. I'm still getting the sympathetic stares, but I don't want their sympathy; I just want to get the hell out of there before I break down. Though, if I'm being honest, I'm too angry to cry; I don't even feel the sting of tears in my eyes.

Pushing my way past the gawkers in the dorm hall, I proceed to our R.A.'s room. I really hope she can move me into another room as soon as possible. It's the middle of the semester, and I know it'll be tough, but I'm not above hoping for a miracle.

My knuckles barely touch the wooden door before it's yanked open. It's almost as if she was expecting me. Her clairvoyance is uncanny. "Bella, what can I do for you?" Alice asks with a bright smile.

"Ali, you have to help me out. I need to move out of my dorm. Please tell me you've got another room or bed available somewhere." I flop down on her bed and let my heavy bag fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

Alice leans against her desk and looks at me, but she doesn't speak for a minute. She's trying to figure out what's happened. Yes, she's my R.A., but she's also one of my closest friends. We met last year and started hanging out whenever we weren't busy with our studies.

"Is Leah's revolving door of men still active?" she asks carefully.

I laugh, turning my head to her. "Something like that." Alice's eyebrows rise, waiting for me to continue. "Her latest customer was Jake. _My_ Jake." Her eyebrows stay up, but her mouth falls open. "Yeah. That was my reaction too."

A loud, repetitive knock on Alice's door fills the room. She shakes her head and pushes off the desk to answer it. It shouldn't surprise me to hear Jake's voice, and I refuse to get up to go talk to him when he _commands_ Alice to send me out.

"She doesn't want to talk to you, Black," Ali tells him fiercely. I can almost visualize her feral stare as she looks two feet up into his eyes, and it makes me smile.

"Don't start with me, pipsqueak. I want to talk to her now." He sounds angry, which is laughable.

I push myself off the bed, walk to the door, and touch Alice's shoulder. Slowly, she turns and looks at me. "I'm going to go and stay with my parents. You'll call me if something opens up?" While I know that Alice would gladly let me crash in her dorm for a few days, I don't want to run the risk of another run-in with Jake or Leah. What better way to avoid that than to stay with my police chief father?

"Bella . . ." I ignore Jake as I squeeze through the very narrow space he's left between him and the doorframe.

People are still staring, and it doesn't help that Jake is following me through the dorm and out to my truck, yelling my name the entire time. There's a part of me that wants to turn around and tell him to screw off, but I know it will only open the lines of communication. And talking to him isn't something I ever want to do again.

"God damn it, Bella!"

I stop dead in my tracks, right next to my truck, and turn on my heel to glare at him. "Don't you _dare_ talk to me like that, Jacob Black. I didn't do anything wrong. You'd do well to remember that."

"You were never around!" he shouts, waving his arms in the air like a maniac. Our audience has followed us outside and is now watching our little soap opera play out. "You were always off doing something, and were so pre-occupied whenever we were together."

My eyes widen, and I stare at him dumbly before I find my words. "So this is my fault? No. I don't think so." Shaking my head almost violently, I turn and unlock my truck before throwing my bag in. Instead of staying on the seat, it falls to the floor after hitting the passenger side door. "And for your information, it's not like I was off doing some_one_. I was studying. We are in college, you know. It's what we do."

Jake doesn't seem to think he was wrong. At all. "Yeah, well, I have needs, Bella."

"Yup, I know." I nod, pressing my lips together. "And it's no longer up to me to meet them. Don't come by my parents' house either. My dad doesn't take too kindly to people who cheat on his daughter."

With that as my last word, I hop into the cab of my truck and start it up. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins, can hear it in my ears. I sit there for a minute, trying to stop the shaking in my hands before I put the vehicle into drive. Driving all the way to my parents' place isn't something I want to do, as it's a longer commute than I would like, but I really have no other options at this point.

Once I feel a little more in control, I put the truck in gear and am just pulling away when a very large hand flattens against my window with a _BANG!_ "BELLA!" I pretend not to hear him, pretend not to see him, and I press my foot down on the accelerator, my rear tires squealing against the hot pavement.

As soon as I'm out of the parking lot, I grab my phone from my pocket and dial my mom. I'm really hoping they won't mind me intruding for a while until Alice can find me a new dorm room.

"Hey, sweetie! How was your day?" my mom asks cheerfully upon answering her phone.

Even though she can't see me, I force a smile to my face because it might alter my voice enough to make her think things aren't as crappy as they really are. I still have yet to cry, and it momentarily worries me, because isn't that what should happen after you catch your boyfriend cheating on you?

"Bella?" I still haven't said anything, and now she sounds worried.

"Sorry, Mom," I quickly reply. "Hi."

There's a pause. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog that's rolling in; I should have known she'd suspect something was going on. "Um, would it be okay if I came and crashed at the house for a bit? My, uh, roommate is . . ."

"Oh, my. Is that slutty roommate still at it?"

I laugh, because it's both true and hilarious whenever my mom calls Leah a _"slut."_ "Something like that. I won't be intruding, will I? I mean . . . I know you and Dad have . . . _enjoyed _having the house to yourselves again." I still can't bring myself to think too much about just how much they've enjoyed having me out of the house. Even if my therapist assures me it's the best way for me to make peace with having seen . . .

"It's no trouble at all!" Mom tells me, thankfully cutting off my disturbing train of thought.

"Great, thanks," I tell her genuinely. "I'll be there in a bit."

"Okay, baby."

After hanging up, I toss my phone on the seat next to me. It starts ringing, and one glance shows me that it's Jake. It shocks me that he's still trying to get me to understand his motivation for banging my roommate. Resisting the urge to toss it out the window, I pick the phone up and turn it off completely because I know now that he's not going to stop. He's always been a persistent bastard.

As I navigate the streets of Phoenix, I think about how we even got to this point. A year ago, I had been a freshman at Arizona State; I hadn't known many people because most of my friends decided to go to various colleges around the country—some even in England. I stayed close to home mainly because I loved Phoenix. Plus, Arizona State had the courses I wanted.

It was on my first day that my roommate, Rebecca, introduced me to her older brother Jacob. She apparently also had a twin sister, Rachel, who went to school in Seattle. Jake was charming. He was always cooking up excuses to stop by our room to "check on his baby sister." Of course, I would later find out that he knew she was in class, and it was just his excuse to come talk to me.

I hadn't dated anyone before—not really. There was a boy in high school that was nice to me; we went out on a couple of movie dates with friends and held hands. But it was never really serious. We never even got to second. I found out after graduation that he was gay.

Talk about a blow to one's ego; I questioned my femininity for a while after that.

When Jake and I started dating, it was obvious that he wanted a more physical relationship, but I wasn't really interested in sex at first. My mom had me straight out of high school, and that wasn't a life I would have chosen for myself. So I waited.

Unfortunately, I knew Jake would only wait so long.

I placated him for a while. I'd let him feel me up, let him get his hand in my pants, and eventually we had sex. It was all right. There weren't stars or fireworks that went off like I was led to believe there would be, and, honestly? I thought it was supposed to last longer. Of course, I really had nothing to base it on.

We had fun in the beginning; he'd take me to all the parties, introduce me to all of his friends, and then we'd go back to his dorm and fool around. My freshman year was my party year, but when my sophomore year came around the corner, I knew I had to buckle down. So, I increased my course-load, and Jake was really supportive. He didn't stop his partying ways, but he supported me and led me to believe that it was okay that I was focusing more on my studies than him.

Well, now I know it's because Leah was busy diddling him.

Releasing a deep sigh, I round the corner onto my parents' street and park my beast of a truck along the curb. Dad's cruiser is in the driveway next to mom's SUV, and I look at the clock on my newly installed CD player to see that it's nearly dinnertime. I don't relish telling my mom what happened, and I look even less forward to Dad hearing about it too. But I know it's going to happen, so I take a deep breath, grab my phone and backpack, and climb out of my vehicle.

I fiddle with my keys as I ascend the steps of the front porch, trying to locate the key to the house. When I find it, I slide it into the deadbolt and turn it, pushing the door open and stepping over the threshold.

"Oh, Charlie. That's it. Oh yeah . . . right there, stud."

"OHMYGOD!" I scream, completely horrified at having walked in on them . . . _again. _Through my periphery, I can barely see my mother fall off the couch—where I unfortunately assume my father is laying—and I slap my hand up to act as a blinder between them and me. "What the hell is wrong with the two of you? Jesus!" Naturally, I don't wait around for an answer before I bolt up the stairs and slam my bedroom door.

My timing really is horrible. I'm starting to wonder if I should wear a bell, or announce my presence to the world. I'll bet my dad even has a bullhorn I can borrow for such things.

Nothing in my room has changed since the day I moved out—just as my parents promised. My twin bed remains dressed in purple linens, my desk sits near the window, empty because I took my laptop with me to school, and my dresser is in the corner, topped with a mirror and various candles. I don't give myself the opportunity to soak up the familiarity of the room before I flop down on my bed and pull my pillow over my head. There's a brief moment of time where I wonder if I can asphyxiate myself until I pass out. Maybe the lack of oxygen to my brain will trigger amnesia.

There's a light knock on my door, and I recognize it instantly as my mother's.

"Go away!" I cry into the pillow. I'm sure she doesn't hear me, because the door creaks as she opens it and my bed dips at my knees beneath her weight.

"I didn't realize you'd be home so soon," she says as if it's an excuse to act like a teenager. "Your father came home for—"

I yank my pillow away from my face and gawk at her. "Oh, I know what he came home for."

Mom shakes her head with a sly smirk. "_Dinner_. Your father came home for dinner. He's working the graveyard tonight."

"And you decided that dessert should come first." The minute the sentence leaves my mouth, a queasy feeling rolls through my stomach, and I bring the pillow back up to my face, pressing harder than before.

Before I could suffocate myself, the pillow is torn from my grasp, and my mother stares deep into my eyes. "What's going on?"

It's hard not to spill my guts to her, because she's just so damn easy to talk to. So I sit up, cross my legs like a pretzel in front of me, and begin to tell her what happened with Jake. She doesn't seem too upset or shocked, which actually surprises me because I really thought she'd liked him when I had introduced them. Apparently, I was wrong.

"He's an idiot. I always knew you could do better." These are just some of the things she tells me. Oddly, they comfort me.

"Honestly, I haven't even cried. Is that weird? I mean, I thought when someone you loved did something like that, you cried . . ."

Mom laughs heartily, placing her hand on my knee. "Oh, honey. I'd be willing to bet you never really loved that boy. Trust me, when you fall in love, you'll know it." I'm confused, so all I do is stare as she gets this wistful look in her blue eyes. "He will be your entire world. Just being away from him will feel like the end of your world, and when you're reunited, you'll feel a sense of total completion."

"Sounds a little _Jerry Maguire _to me," I mumble.

With a one-shouldered shrug, she stands from the bed. "Maybe. But you'll understand one of these days."

I am quick to disagree as she pulls me to my feet and from my room for dinner. "Nope. I'm giving up on relationships. I'm going to focus on school and my career. I don't need a man."

"Oh, sweetie." She wraps her arm around me securely as we descend the stairs. "You can't control these things from happening. You'll see."

I find it hard to believe that I'll ever be able to trust any man again, but I force a smile to my face to placate her. She's always been a bit of a romantic soul, and I hate to take that away from her just because it decided to skip a generation.

So, instead of arguing, I smile and rest my head against her shoulder as we enter the kitchen to find my father at the table, his red face buried in the paper—as it should be. "Whatever you say, Mom."

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><p><strong>AN2: So, there's the first chapter to Rm w/a Vu. I don't have a specific timeline to updates, but I would suspect once ever two-three weeks at this point. I have the first few chapters written, and was going to wait to post until it was done (or closer to it), but you know me . . . "Impatient" is my middle name ;-)**

**So, let me know what you thought and I'll send you a teaser to the next chapter!**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	2. Classifieds

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/a Vu_ are mine.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2. Classifieds<strong>

Hearing my mother giggle across the hall as my father does . . . whatever the hell he does, is starting to drive me crazy. I've been here almost a week. Not only is the drive to school more than I want to deal with, hearing them, night after night after night . . . well, it's not something one should ever have to go through. Is this some sort of mid-life crisis? It's not like they're even that old . . .

Neither of them seemed put-out with me staying here; in fact, they both seemed to enjoy catching up with me. However, when Mom told Dad _why _I was staying, well, it took a lot for us to convince him that the jail time wouldn't be worth it. His face seemed to turn an even deeper shade of red as his rage suppressed his embarrassment from having been caught on the couch with my mother under an hour earlier.

"_I assure the both of you, I won't be caught," _he'd said, making both of us laugh as I stood up and hugged him before he could pace a hole in the kitchen floor.

"_Aw, Dad. Thanks for the offer, but Jacob Black isn't worth it," _I told him, feeling his rigid body soften as he hugged me back. _"Trust me."_

When he had finally calmed down, he assured me that I was welcome to stay there as long as I needed. He even told me that the house just hadn't been the same since I'd gone. I had to bite my tongue so as not to point out the more obvious changes, not really feeling the need to embarrass him further—or remember the sounds and brief glimpse I caught myself . . .

When dinner was ready, Dad concluded his tirade, and we all went about eating the delicious casserole my mom made, falling easily into a much more pleasant conversation about work and school. It was as if that thing I almost didn't see never happened.

Which brings me back to now . . .

"Charlie, stop it!" my mother squeals, and then I hear the deep tenor of my father saying something in return. His voice is muffled, which can only mean one of a few things I really don't want to wrap my head around for fear of needing industrial-strength brain bleach. Honestly, I'm glad I can't make out what he's saying, because I know I'll run to my desk and drive sharp pencils into my ears. I might even attempt to lobotomize myself; I'm sure there's a Google or Wiki article about "Do-It-Yourself Lobotomies" out there somewhere. Though, I can't imagine they're entirely safe.

She giggles again, and having heard more than enough for the day, I bolt out of bed, throw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, grab my bag, and hit the stairs before I hear things I never want to hear again. I'm moving so fast that I think I might have even jumped from the top step and landed safely on the main floor. Considering my natural lack of grace, I'm shocked I haven't broken anything if that's truly the case.

I'm just opening the door when I hear the creak of my parents' door at the top of the staircase. "Bella?" my mother calls down. "Are you going somewhere? I was going to make breakfast."

Oh, right. I forgot to mention that it's nine o'clock in the morning. They like to get an early start on their day.

"I'm heading into work," I reply, yanking the door open. "I wanted to get a little studying in before my shift, and the cafe is typically pretty quiet this early."

Her footsteps are heard as she heads for the stairs. "Are you sure? I was going to make waffles." She descends the steps barefoot and dressed in her bathrobe, her cheeks lightly flushed, and her lips plump and red.

I clear my throat, trying not to think of why she looks this way. "Yeah," I tell her as she sits on the bottom step and looks up at me. I know she can read the look on my face; the way my nose is scrunched up because of what I heard is a dead giveaway. "As tempting as it is, I think it's best I go . . . study."

"Bella . . ." I know that tone. She's about to tell me she and Dad are adults. Like me. That adults have sex. I'm not a stranger to this talk. Ask my therapist.

I have to interrupt her before she says the words _"your father and I"_ in the same sentence as _"have sex."_ "Save me some. I'll throw them in the toaster for breakfast tomorrow. Thanks!" And I'm out the door.

The drive to the cafe I work at could be faster, but my poor truck is on its last leg. With school and my low pay, I am unable to rectify that, though. The more distance I put between me and the house, the more I seem to be able to focus on anything but the awkwardness I've been enduring the last few days.

One would think that they could control themselves with their daughter around. They're animals, though. Plain and simple. At least they're keeping it in the bedroom while I'm staying there; I do have that to be thankful for.

"Hey, Bella!" Kate greets excitedly as I enter the cafe. She's busy wiping down the counter as I toss my bag onto an empty chair and make my way to her. "I thought you weren't supposed to work until later?"

Kate and I went to high school together. We weren't best friends by any means, but we hung out on occasion. She was a sweet girl and fun to work with. She chose to go to Paradise Valley Community College here in Phoenix, so, unfortunately, she wasn't an option to bunk with. I would gladly room with her if I could.

"I had to get out of that house," I confess, popping behind the counter to pour myself a coffee and grab a muffin.

Kate looks at me with empathy because she's been listening to me gripe about my parents' lapin-esque activities. "Still no news on a new dorm, huh?" Thankfully, she's not one to talk about my reason for escaping my parents almost daily.

I shake my head. "Nah. Alice tells me that because it's so late in the year, the chance of something opening up is unlikely. And people in private dorms aren't usually looking to take on a dorm mate. Had I known this was going to happen, I'd have pledged to be a Kappa. They get housing."

Kate laughs. "Yeah, but they're a bunch of hoity-toity bitches. You know Lauren Mallory pledged, right?"

"That's right. I forgot about that." Lauren went to school with us too. Kate used to hang out with her right up until Lauren stole her boyfriend. Yeah, she was a real treat. Just ask any of the guys we went to school with. I suddenly consider introducing her and Leah. I bet they have a lot in common . . . like the men they've both likely bedded.

I'm putting cream and sugar into my coffee when Kate turns to me, leaning her hip against the low counter that our espresso machine is on. "Jake stopped by last night."

"I hope you spit in whatever froufrou drink he ordered." Jake is a fan of the whip-topped fancy coffees, which really should have been my first clue to get rid of him.

"Thought about it," Kate tells me with an impish smirk. "Instead, I told him you were out on a date."

I sputter on the sip of coffee I've just taken, coughing as the piping hot beverage burns my trachea. "You did what?"

Kate looks pretty damn proud of herself. "He looked pretty pissed too. He kept asking who it was and where you'd gone."

Wiping at my chin with a napkin, I ask, "And what did you say?"

"That it was just some guy you met. That pissed him off even more." I didn't think her smile could get any wider, but it does.

"While I'm not sure angering him is a wise decision," I say, "I have to admit, the idea of him being jealous is quite appealing."

The chimes above the door ring, and I turn quickly, thinking that maybe Jake has decided to stop by again. I'm happy to see it's not him, just a group of students coming in early on a Saturday morning for coffee and breakfast. Picking up my own muffin and coffee mug, I leave Kate to her work while I go to the table I've claimed and pull out my laptop to start that paper I told Mom I needed to do.

As always, I become so immersed in my schoolwork that nothing else seems to register. Kate is awesome about making sure I'm not interrupted and keeps my coffee cup full. She brings me a ham sandwich, even though I haven't asked for it, because she knows I'll need to eat before I start my shift.

I acknowledge her with a smile before pulling the plate toward me. "Thanks." I take a bite and then notice the folded paper under her arm. My jaw moves slower as I stare at the mangled paper, and I suddenly realize that my parents' place _isn't_ a last resort. "Hey, you mind if I take that?"

Kate looks down at it and shrugs. "Knock yourself out. Mind if I ask why?"

I set my sandwich back down and brush the crumbs from my fingertips before taking the outstretched paper and opening it to the last page. "Because I'm going to find a place that hopefully doesn't have people having sex all the time."

"The classifieds?" Kate seems a little apprehensive about my plan. She wouldn't be if she had to live with what I currently am. She's so lucky her parents divorced last year . . . Okay, so maybe "lucky" isn't the right word; having your parents split up must suck, and it happens so often lately that happy marriages are the rarity. I guess I should be grateful that my parents are happy—even if they are horny bastards as of late.

Wishing me luck, Kate heads back to work, and I peruse the multiple ads. I don't get to look them over very long, just long enough to circle the first three that catch my eye, before I note the time and pack everything up into my bag so I can start my shift. As soon as I clock in, Kate takes her break, leaving me with three customers in line.

The routine is the same, save for the order the drinks come in, and in the first hour I've probably made five frappuccinos, ten espressos (three of which were doubles), six cappuccinos, and twelve lattes. All different flavours, so that keeps me on my toes.

Kate comes back from her break as soon as the crowd thins, because that's how it always happens, so we spend the next little bit cleaning up the back counter and stocking everything we'll need for the dinner rush. As we do, Kate starts talking about her boyfriend and how they are planning to take a trip to Mexico as soon as school lets out.

"Mexico in July? You're going to cook," I tell her. "I mean, it gets hot _here_. I can only imagine what it's like down there."

Kate is quick to agree. "Right, but the ocean is right there." Okay, she has me there. A lot of homes have pools here; ours isn't one, and most summer days, I wished differently.

Hearing her talk about her rock solid relationship only serves to remind me of my failed one. I'm happy for her, sure, but it does little to offer me any solace. While I'm in no way ready to date, just knowing that it is possible to be in a happy, _committed _relationship kind of bums me out. I mean, even my parents are in that mid-life, 24/7, I-can't-keep-my-hands-off-you stage. How depressing is _that_? I'm in college. Shouldn't I be going to parties and hooking up with guys at random?

I cringe because, while I know it's what "all the girls" are doing, I can't imagine going to the doctor to be treated for whatever STD is now going around.

Kate leaves at four, having finished her shift, and the closing server comes in to take her place since I'm off in just two hours myself. Maggie tells me she can hold down the fort if I want to take a break. So I grab a muffin and a bottle of water before grabbing my paper and a pen. Sitting at one of the tables by the window, I draw my knee to my chest, my foot flat on the seat of the chair, and I chew on the cap of the red pen while I scan the advertisements.

There's one that sounds promising . . . right up until the douchebag mentions that _"hot chicks welcome to inquire." _Yeah, he friggin' wrote that. I immediately cross it off; there's no way in hell I'll even entertain the idea. There's another one, but this time the woman is all business and isn't _"looking for a BFF."_ While I'm not either, I am completely turned off by what comes across as PBS: Potential Bitch Syndrome. Seriously, where did people learn to write ads these days?

Another one catches my eye, and I circle it before moving on. I've decided that once I've found all of the ones worth taking a look at, I'll call them one after the other and make appointments to go see them. It seems to make the most sense.

By the end of my break, I've found well over ten. I feel like it's a pretty decent start to getting out of my parents' house.

The rest of my shift is a breeze, and I clock out ten minutes after my shift was supposed to end, having helped Maggie with the last few customers before leaving her and Paul for the night.

"Night, guys!" I call after me as I push the door open and walk out into the dry, desert air.

"Good luck on your apartment hunt," Maggie says with a wave.

It's pretty warm outside for late fall, and I can already feel the heat permeate my clothes and skin. Once I'm inside my beast of a truck, I roll both of the windows down so I don't melt and buckle up before I drive home. Knowing that my dad's shift at the department starts in a half hour, I drive slowly; I really don't want to chance walking in on anything else. I still plan to call, because I've definitely learned my lesson.

When I'm a block away, I call the house. With a laugh, my mom assures me that Dad has left, and she deems it safe for me to come in without knocking. I put the truck in park and grab my things before trudging up the driveway and through the front door.

"Hey, Mom! I'm home," I announce before hiking up the stairs and putting my bag in my room. I toss the paper onto my bed and am just slipping out of my coffee-stained work shirt and into a light tank when my mom comes in and flops down on my bed.

"How was work?"

"Good."

"Did you get your paper done?" she asks, lying on her side as I affix my loose ponytail into a bun to keep the hair off my neck before it sticks.

I shake my head. "Nah. I got a good start on it, though, so I should be able to finish it in plenty of time."

"That's good." Behind me, I hear the crinkle of paper and turn around to see her picking up my ads. "What's this?"

Scrunching my nose, I cross my arms in front of me. "I was looking through the classifieds for a place. Alice can't get me into a new dorm room so late in the year, so I figured I would look into renting a place."

"Sweetheart, you're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need."

I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I have to be honest with her; she knows when I'm not. "Mom, you and Dad are clearly enjoying having the house to yourselves. I really don't want to intrude on that . . . and not just because it's absolutely horrifying." She gives me the "Mom-look," and I roll my eyes in response. "Let me put it in a way that you can understand: could you go back to living with Grandma and Grandpa if—"

Mom's hands quickly fly up to cover her ears, and she clenches her eyes shut. "Okay! I get your point!"

Satisfied, I smile. "Then I rest my case. Come on, I'll make us some dinner." I take one of her hands and pull her to her feet. She snatches the paper up and brings it with her.

While I cook dinner for the two of us, Mom sits at the table and looks at all the ads I've circled and laughs at the ones I've eliminated. "You know, this one guy might not be so bad."

I shoot a glance at her with an arched brow. "You mean the hot chicks guy?" Mom nods. "Mmm, no thanks. I've had my fill of self-righteous assholes to last me a lifetime."

By-passing the fact that I just swore—something I don't do much of at all, let alone in front of my parents—my mother continues. "I bet he's cute . . ."

I laugh dryly. "There isn't a doubt in my mind," I tell her as I cook the chicken for our salads.

"Bella?" I turn my head to see she's now leaning over the counter that separates the dining area from the kitchen. "I know that living off-campus, even with a roommate, can be quite expensive." She's not kidding; I've already decided to take on more shifts at work so I'll be able to afford it _and _food. "Your father and I are going to help. If you find a place, you let us know how much it is and we'll pay half."

I shake my head; it's far too generous an offer. "Mom—"

She doesn't let me finish. "You still have to keep your grades up, but I don't want you to have to work even more just because you can't afford to live. That's how people wind up quitting their education. We want what's best for you, and we're just so proud."

I rush around the corner and wrap my mom in my arms. "Thanks, Mom. This really means a lot. I'll try to find a place that's reasonably priced."

She laughs, rubbing my back lightly as she embraces me back. "That's all we ask, dear."

After dinner, I tell Mom I need to work on my paper, but as soon as I'm on my bed, my laptop open in front of me, I can't seem to focus on it. So, deciding I need to take a break already, I grab the paper and my phone and start to make a few phone calls.

The first place I call sounded great when I found it earlier, but as soon as I start talking to the woman, I realize it isn't for me. While the idea of a house with three appliances and access to a personal laundry room sounds great, the fact that the woman was charging close to fifteen hundred dollars a month did _not._ That is more than my entire month's salary. There's no way I can afford that, even with help from my parents.

I call a couple more, and either they're taken or the person renting it sounds like a total crack addict. Honestly, I don't fancy taking care of some junkie's screaming children while they cook meth in the shared basement and blow us all sky-high. Nah, I'm good.

I'm starting to lose all hope that I'll find a place and contemplate not calling the one ad I have left for fear of being disappointed, yet again. I look at the ad I've circled and read it again:

_**Rm w/ a Vu**_

_Looking for roommate_

_to share 2 bdrm house in_

_Phoenix._

_Must be tidy. No pets._

_If this is you, please call (480) 555-1367_

I don't know why I do it—habit at this point, maybe?—but I dial the number and hold the phone to my ear as it rings. The fact that it goes on ringing leads me to believe that no one will answer, but just as I am about to remove the phone from my ear, I hear a light click.

"Hello?" The voice shocks me at first, mostly because it belongs to a guy. So far, all the ads I've responded to have been females. I'm not sure how a male/female roommate situation is supposed to work, and I'm also not sure I'm entirely comfortable with the idea either.

"Damn it." The irritation is clear in his voice, and I realize that I haven't yet spoken.

Before he can hang up, I jump off my bed and begin to pace the floor before I speak up. "Wait. Sorry . . . Hi." I run the fingers of my free hand through my hair and take a deep breath.

There's a light chuckle from his end of the phone, and there's something about it that forces me to sit back down on my bed, the hand in my hair dropping into my lap. "Hello. Sorry, I thought you'd hung up."

The corners of my lips turn up into a smile, and I exhale a relieved half-sigh-half-laugh. "Oh. No . . . uh, I'm still here." I can't help but let the smooth sound of his voice envelope me like a warm blanket, and I find myself feeling kind of dazed.

"Can I help you with something, Miss . . .?"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry," I say, slapping my hand to my forehead. "My name is Bella, and I was calling about your ad? For the room? You know, the one with the view?" He laughs again, this time it's a much heartier sound, and I imagine him as some blue-eyed man with thick blond hair, sitting on his couch watching some kind of sporting event while he's listening to me ramble on like an idiot.

"I'm sorry," I say again.

"No need to be. The room is still available," he tells me softly, and I'm pulled right back into the velvety sound of his voice. "Would you like to come take a look at it?"

"Uh huh," I reply before shaking my head clear of the weird fog that seems to have rolled in. "I mean, yes. That would be great. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow would be perfect. Do you have a pen? I'll give you the address and directions, as it's in one of the newer areas of Phoenix."

After jotting down the address and directions, I hang up the phone and hold the paper in my hands like it's my lifeline to . . . something. I'm not sure what it is, but there was something about his voice—his energy, even over the phone—that called to me. I laugh at myself, because it's clearly ridiculous; for all I know, he could be some sixty-seven-year-old bald dude who walks around in his boxers and a sweat-stained tank top . . .

"Ewwww," I groan to myself as the possibility of that being a reality actually sets in. "He could be some sixty-seven-year-old bald dude who walks around in his boxers and a sweat-stained tank top."

I'm just about to call back and tell him that something came up and I'll reschedule later if the room is still available, when the front door opens and my dad calls out, "Honey, I'm home for dinner!"

While I hope to _God_ that there's no sexual innuendo haloing his statement, I'm finding it hard to believe. It's when I hear my mom's giggle from the kitchen below my room that I toss my phone back on my mattress and declare aloud, "I'll take my chances with the old guy."

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><p><strong>AN2: So, there's chapter two. Any guesses on who the guy renting the room is? Pretty obvious, huh? Not one of my better plot twists . . .**

**Oh wait . . . I usually execute plot twists MUCH later in my stories. Right ;-)**

**Well, I'd love to know what each and every one of you thought of this chapter! I will send out a teaser to those who review (unless you don't want a teaser, then just say as much in your review and I'll reply but not tease). Sorry to those who didn't get a teaser, it was never my intention to not send them, I just got my chapter back and figured it was better than a measly teaser.**

**Until next time . . .**

**xoxo**


	3. Truth in Advertising

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**Sorry for not sending out teasers. I just started a new business a couple weeks ago (baking cakes . . . FUN!) and have been SOOOOO busy already! Sorry guys. I hope it won't happen again and that posting the whole chapter on time more than makes up for it! I appreciate EVERY single review, so keep 'em coming!**

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><p><strong>Rm w a Vu**

**Chapter 3. Truth in Advertising**

"So, how much is it?" Mom asks as she watches me rifle through the few clothes I had been able to stuff into my bag when leaving the dorm last week.

My hands stop moving over the hangers in my closet when I realize I had completely forgotten to find out the cost of rent. "I kind of forgot to ask, actually."

Mom laughs. "Shouldn't that be the first question you ask?" she teased lightly.

She's right, of course, and I try to remember why I hadn't even thought to ask. The sound of his voice suddenly invades my head, and I find myself feeling funny again. I have to tell myself that I'm acting ridiculously, because I've never even met the man. I easily chalk it up to a lack of sleep the night before. Shockingly, it wasn't because of my parents' "carnal interludes" for once.

While I had briefly thought that the man could be an old bald guy, the more I lay in bed thinking about it, the more my mind imagined him the opposite. I like it better that way; it's way less creepy.

Don't get me wrong; I still gave my mom the address when telling her about the place because no matter how pretty this guy might be, people are still kind of crazy nowadays. I watch the news and am the daughter of the Phoenix Chief of Police . . . I know things.

"And the woman you'll be renting from? She seemed nice?" I freeze as I reach for my brown v-neck shirt, unable to meet her gaze. It's true; I may have withheld a thing or two. "Bella?" She drags out my name, using the tone that mothers use when they know you're keeping something from them. It's like a superpower.

"The, uh . . . landlord seems great," I tell her quickly. I'm a little terrified to tell her that this person is a guy. While my mother is a pretty open-minded person, she's also very loose-lipped. If she were to tell my dad, well, he'd activate the tracking chip I know is in the cell phone they bought me for my last birthday and have me followed. Chief of Police, remember?

I know it's stupid and irresponsible to keep this from them, but I still don't even know if I'm taking the place. Why upset them—well, mostly Dad—if it doesn't work out?

With a laugh, I pull my shirt down over my face and turn to Mom. "Definitely not someone in the boyfriend-stealing market . . . not that it's really a concern since I don't plan on having one for quite a while."

Mom rolls her eyes, probably because she doesn't believe I can refrain from having a boyfriend. Well, I've got news for her; I went without almost all the way through high school . . . I could so do it again. I'll show her.

"Do you want me to come with you? Your father is working all day, so I would be happy to tag along," she offers.

I admit, it's probably not a bad idea, but that whole "her telling dad I went to look at a place that some guy was renting through the classifieds" thing keeps me from accepting. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I try to quickly work out how to let her down easily; I know she likely just wants us to spend the day together.

I meet her eyes through the mirror to see her perch herself on the edge of my desk while I go about brushing my hair. After securing a ponytail at the back of my head, I set the brush on my dresser in front of the mirror and turn to her. "Thanks, but I'll be okay. You should stay home in case Dad stops by for lunch. You guys haven't had much alone time since I've been back." Not that this has stopped them . . . I'm pretty pleased with myself for not cringing or gagging when my brain is suddenly plagued with the horrific sounds. My therapist would probably classify that as a breakthrough.

Once I'm ready, we head downstairs where we eat a small breakfast of eggs and toast. After I do the dishes, I kiss Mom on the cheek and grab my keys so I can take the first step toward moving back out. I'm sure to promise that I will text her when I get to the house and again when I am heading home.

"Good luck!" Mom calls after me as I bound down the three porch steps and into the sun. It isn't terribly hot, definitely a little more seasonable than it had been yesterday, and I am glad I had chosen longer sleeves as opposed to the tee I'd been contemplating.

My beast of a truck seems to take a little more effort to start, which only worries me that it's going to conk out on me sooner than I'm ready for. There's a very good chance I'll be bussing to and from school in the days to come. Awesome.

Having watched Dad fiddle with all the little gadgets and whats-its under the hood, I want to assume it's the alternator causing me grief. Or maybe the starter? Okay, I really have no clue. I should have paid more attention.

"Come on, come on, _come on_," I whine, turning the key once more, pumping the clutch a little more forcefully before something clicks and my truck roars to life. As I pull out onto the street, I make a mental reminder to tell Dad to have a look at the engine when he gets home.

I grab my phone from the seat next to me and find the electronic note I made with the directions. The address is in one of the newer areas of town that I've never been to. I start to imagine the style of house, and if there's a yard—not that I need one; it's just a passing thought. The ad also said that it was a two-bedroom home; did that mean it's just a basic one-storey house? Honestly, I'm not quite sure what to expect.

Throughout all my musing, I almost don't realize when I've come to the street I need. Or at least, I think it is; I have to look at the address on my phone several times to be sure. It doesn't matter how long I've lived in Phoenix, I always seem to get lost whenever navigating one of the areas I rarely frequent. And I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that _this_ is not one of the areas I visit on a day-to-day basis. In fact, I don't think I've ever been here; I'm pretty sure there's some kind of cover charge just to look at the houses.

Of course, the minute the street sign I'm looking for comes into view, I catch a glimpse of a few of the homes along the block, and my jaw drops. These houses are stunning, multi-level homes with balconies above, what I can only assume to be, the grandest of all front porches. Why do I assume this? Because I can't see through the large walls of the posh, gated community.

"This can't be right," I mutter to myself as I pull onto the street. It's not so rich a neighbourhood that there's a security guard in one of those little booths, but it wouldn't have shocked me if there were. Slowing my vehicle down to a loud, rumbling crawl, I pick up my iPhone and double check the address of the house I'm looking for.

_There has to be some mistake_, I think to myself as I pull up to a house that isn't my idea of an average house. It's not overly huge, but it couldn't have been cheap. It is two stories high with two thick columns that hold up an eave—which doubles as a balcony—over the double front doors. I look at the gold numbers on the side of the house and then my cell phone screen. They match. How can that be? I know I'm going to feel like an ass the minute I get to the door and the person answers, telling me I have the wrong house, but something pulls me from my seat and propels me up the front steps.

After sending my mom a quick text to let her know I'm here, I ring the bell, pulling my hands back quickly and clasping them in front of me nervously. Through the glass on the door, I can see someone approaching, and I suck in a breath, preparing myself to be shooed away like some door-to-door solicitor who probably knows better than to show up here.

The minute the door opens, I release the breath I'm holding and stare like I've never stared before. The man standing before me is . . . well, he's absolutely gorgeous. His hair is a disheveled copper mess atop his head, his jawline sharp and covered in short stubble. I find myself wondering how it would feel against my skin, and a blush warms my cheeks. Then . . . oh god, _then_ I find his eyes. His piercing, emerald green eyes. They're only made more stunning when he smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly.

"You must be Bella." I think my head moves up and down, but if it is, it feels disconnected from the rest of me. There's an awkward pause between us when his eyes lock with mine.

He's nothing like I imagined him to be. First, he's certainly not a 60-something-year-old bald guy in boxers and a sweat-stained tee. While I am thankful for this, it also worries me because how can I possibly live with a guy this good-looking? Standing within a foot of him makes my knees feel weak . . . not to mention the deep tickle that starts in my belly and works its way south of the border.

_What the hell _is_ that?_ It's a rhetorical question, because I know what is happening with my body . . . but to be feeling this over a complete stranger? It's unlike anything I've ever experienced—even with Jake—and my cheeks feel like they're now on fire.

We're still staring at one another, and I honestly don't know how much time has passed. While I know I'm supposed to say something, it's as though my brain and my mouth aren't cooperating with each other right now.

The man before me must be confused, because his strangely attractive, thick eyebrows pull together. "Are you not?"

My lips part, but the only sound that escapes is a breathless, "Huh?"

He chuckles, and I find myself really enjoying the sounds in person rather than over the phone. "Are you Bella?"

"Yes," I manage to squeak out. "Sorry, yes. I called last night about—"

"The room," he finishes for me. "I remember. I'm Edward Cullen." After introducing himself, he offers me his hand, and I take it. The way his warm hand closes securely around my own makes me sigh.

_Get a grip!_ I inwardly scold myself, yanking my arm back and hugging it to my chest while my cheeks continue to flame. He regards me with one raised eyebrow. Clearly he thinks I'm insane and won't want to take me on as a tenant. I should probably just g—

"Please, come in. I'll show you the house and the available room for rent," he offers, gallantly stepping off to the side to make room for me to enter his home.

"Oh," I say, somewhat shocked that he hasn't slammed the door in my face with such force that I stumble backward. "Great."

Once I'm inside, he closes the door. "Follow me."

I listen, because I feel somewhat compelled to. It's strange, this feeling I'm experiencing, but I shake it off because deep down I know I don't believe in any of it. I even start to consider the possibility that I'm just seeking some kind of rebound.

_I bet Edward would be a great reboun—_

I derail that train of thought before things inside my head get inappropriate—_er_.

We make our way slowly through the main level, and I can't stop ogling the man. I do hear him; it's just my eyes that aren't paying attention. He shows me the living room first, and I'm proud of myself for being able to tear my eyes away from him long enough to admire his ability to decorate his home without it looking like a total bachelor pad.

He laughs, and I feel my heart quicken as I take in the way his eyes sparkle and how the outer corners crease when his smile reaches them. "My mother may have influenced a few of my decisions."

"Meaning she made them for you," I quip playfully, a wide smile forming.

"Essentially, yes."

As we make our way through the rest of the main floor, my eyes continually find their way back to Edward. His messy hair, the cut of his jaw . . . but mostly his ass. I can't help it. I blame whoever designed the jeans he's wearing. In fact, I am currently trying to devise a way to check out the tag on his pants so I can send an angry note . . . or a thank you letter; I'm still not entirely sure.

I have to get myself back under control, because if I do decide to live here, things could get awkward. I don't want awkward. I _have_ awkward at my parents' house.

"The basement is just through this door. It's finished, and the laundry room is down there." He pauses briefly, seemingly nervous. "I'd show it to you, but I can imagine that leading a girl that responded to an ad I placed in the paper down into my basement might seem a little daunting."

While I feel like I can trust him, my logical inner voice does kick in . . . and it sounds an awful lot like my father. "Not a problem. I'm okay. Thanks, though. It's always good to know."

The kitchen is open with a small dining set near the patio door. Through the glass, I see a sleek stone deck that looks out toward the desert. It's absolutely stunning, and I'm suddenly very aware that there's no way I am going to be able to afford this place. Yes, it probably shouldn't have taken me this long to figure that out, but it did.

I'm just about to say something when Edward speaks up. "Come on. I'll show you the upstairs."

"O—okay," I stammer.

Leading the way back through the kitchen and to the main entry, we turn left toward the stairs and begin our ascent. We walk down the hall, peer first into the study and then the washroom before Edward shows me which room is his. He's got his own bathroom, which means I won't have to worry about sharing . . .

Apparently, I've fallen back into thinking I'm moving in here, regardless of whether or not I can afford it.

"And this is the available room," Edward says, opening the door across the hall from his and next to the study. He doesn't enter, instead standing in the hall while I step through, and then follows me inside. There is a queen-sized bed, which beats the single in my room at Mom and Dad's as well as the one at my old dorm room, and it's dressed in basic white linens, probably to showcase the pale Caribbean blue colour of the walls. There is also a tall white dresser against the wall next to the door, and a shorter, longer dresser on the opposite side of the room.

"There's an ensuite bathroom here too, so you'd have complete privacy," Edward says softly from behind me. "And here"—Edward goes to one of the two doors in my room and opens it—"is the closet."

Curious, I poke my head in, only to inhale a breath when I see it's quite possibly larger than my current bedroom. "This is incredible," I say quietly, taking a step back and away from the closet. It's then that I notice the floor-to-ceiling drapes that must be hiding the window. Turning to Edward, I point at them. "May I?"

In response, Edward crosses his arms and leans against the wall, smiling brightly. "Be my guest."

The size of the closet shocked me, but what I find behind those curtains quite literally takes my breath away. I push the white drapes back, but instead of finding a basic window, I find French doors that lead to a balcony. The fact that I can see the desert means we're right above the kitchen.

The ad isn't wrong; this room has a view, and it's unbelievable. I open the doors and step out onto the balcony. Not only can I see the desert, but when I look down I see that there's a pool too. Living here would be incredible.

"So," Edward says, stepping into my peripheral view, "what do you think?"

"It's amazing," I reply breathlessly. "But, I'm afraid to ask how much it is."

"Why don't we head back down to the kitchen, and we can discuss that there," he suggests.

Sadly, I know that no matter how much we discuss it, there is absolutely no way I'll be able to afford it. I really should just tell him, but for some reason when I try to speak nothing comes out.

"Can I offer you something to drink? I could put on some water for tea, or I've got fresh lemonade in the fridge," Edward offers, pulling out one of the chairs at the table for me.

The chivalrous act catches me off guard, but I recover quickly, smiling. "Thanks. Um, lemonade sounds lovely."

"Coming right up."

Edward returns moments later with two glasses and sits in the seat across from me. "So, Bella," he begins, "tell me a bit about yourself."

"Well, I'm an only child and a student in my sophomore year at Arizona State. I work at Mama Java's Coffeehouse . . . Um, what else do you want to know?" I ask.

He seems to be perplexed about something, but before I can ask, he voices whatever is on his mind. "I apologize if this comes across as rude, but if you're a student, why aren't you staying in on-campus housing? I mean, that would seem to make the most sense."

I smile, though it's not an overly happy one. "I was staying in a dorm, but the girl I bunked with had . . . less than desirable traits that one might look for in a roommate."

It seems like Edward understands without my having to say much more. "Ah. She couldn't respect boundaries."

I laugh and take a sip of my drink. "Something like that," I tell him. "And now I'm back at home with my parents."

"And that doesn't work for you either?" he inquires.

"Mmm," I hum, somewhat uncomfortably. "Not so much." It's time to admit that I can't afford this place, so I inhale a deep breath and say, "Look. The house is great, and the room is unbelievably beautiful . . . but the truth of the matter is, I just don't think I can afford it. I want to—believe me, I do—but with my being a full-time student and working whenever I'm not busy studying . . . well, it's just not feasible."

Edward chuckles again, and I begin to wonder if it's possible to miss something you've only been briefly exposed to . . .

My guess would be yes.

"Bella, I haven't even told you how much the rent is."

Wrapping both hands around my lemonade glass and feeling the cold beads of condensation on my palms, I shake my head. "I can't imagine it to be cheap. I mean, the mortgage alone on a home like this has to be—"

"Surprisingly lower than one might expect with a large enough down payment," Edward says, cutting me off before I can completely turn him down. If it had been anyone else interrupting me, I probably would have gotten annoyed, but not him. Not in this moment, anyway.

"Listen, Bella," he continues, "I'm constantly on the road for work—sometimes for weeks at a time—and am in need of someone to watch over the place while I'm away."

"Still—"

Again, he doesn't let me finish. "You'd really be doing me a favour," he says as I bring my glass to my lips. "Four hundred a month."

The number shocks me, causing me to choke and sputter on the drink I've just taken. "What? You can't be serious . . . Are you saying that because I basically just told you that I'm poor?"

Edward's laughter fills the kitchen. "Not at all. I just figured that since I was basically asking you to house-sit whenever I'm away that it would be unfair of me to ask for an unreasonable amount of rent."

I don't know what to say—a first, to be sure. Here I am, sitting in a gorgeous home in a safe, gated community—which is coincidentally not too far from school—and it's actually affordable _without_ my parents' help? It's all just too good to be true. The fact that my potential landlord is easy on the eyes doesn't hurt, either.

The kitchen is silent, save for the soft _tick, tick, tick_ of the clock over the doorway. Edward is watching me, waiting for my answer. He doesn't look annoyed that I'm taking my time—and I'm honestly not sure why I am, because I basically want to say yes to anything he might suggest . . . and I do mean _anything_.

Finally, I find my voice. "I only have one more question."

Edward nods once, slowly and carefully, as though he's afraid of what my question might be. It's really pretty adorable.

"When can I move in?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: So, there's the highly-anticipated first meeting! Was it everything you all hoped it would be? If you'd all be so kind as to review and let me know what you thought, I'd really appreciate it. Teasers await those who do! (Unless you don't want them; just say as much in your review!) I promise to send them out this time! **

**Until next time.**

**xoxo**


	4. To a New Beginning

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**WOW! I am just so flattered by all the awesome reviews this story has received so far! Thanks to you all!**

**Big thanks to my two awesome betas, Twimarti and TDS88. They were super speedy in getting this back to me so you all could read it too! Working with them has been great :)**

**I do want to address one question that about half of you had regarding POVs we will be seeing in this story . . . This entire story is plotted to be told only in Bella's POV. About half of you are more than okay with this, but some of you are itching for some EPOV. Well don't be sad, guys. I plan to do SEVERAL EPOV outtakes after this story is done. I won't do the whole story in EPOV, but there will be a few parts of this story that I know you guys will want his POV to (the first meeting, for instance).**

**Anyway, let's move along shall we. Bella has to tell her dad that she's about to shack up with some guy . . .**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4. To a New Beginning<strong>

I don't regret the question, but the minute it leaves my mouth, I realize I should probably know more about the man sitting in front of me . . . besides how gorgeous he and his home are.

Before I find the opportunity to back-pedal and ask about him, Edward smiles and responds to my question. "Whenever is good for you. I know we're almost three weeks into November, but feel free to bring your stuff by any time."

"Really?" Edward nods and takes a sip of his lemonade. When he licks his lips afterward, I find it hard to focus on anything else. It really is ridiculous—the way I'm feeling—and I momentarily question my sanity.

When I realize that Edward is staring at me as I continue to gape—probably slack-jawed—I try to recover. "Okay, well I've got school all week, but I can probably stop by the dorm and start packing up my things . . . You're sure it's not too soon? I'd hate to be an imposition in any way. I mean, if you're busy—"

"Bella, relax. It's fine," he says with a smile, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up before walking around to the other side of the island counter. After rifling through a drawer, he returns to his seat and holds out his hand, palm up. In it is a small silver house key.

I still can't believe this is happening. There's no way I should be able to afford a place like this, but it seems I've hit the jackpot—and I'm not just talking about the house.

"Thanks," I say, taking the key from him. The warmth of his skin causes my breath to hitch and my stomach to flip-flop. I even think my eyes flutter. "So, is there, like, a lease or something you want me to sign?" I ask, trying really hard to control the light waver in my voice.

Edward laughs almost nervously, running his hand through his soft-looking hair, and I expel a soft breath. "Actually, I hadn't had time to draw one up. I only just got back into town yesterday, and I was just walking through the front door when you called. Give me a few days to draw one up?"

"Oh, yeah . . . sure. I can sign it when I start bringing my things over." I find myself feeling more and more giddy each and every time I make mention of the fact that I will be living here.

"Perfect."

I can't agree more with his word choice.

As we sit here in a brief moment of silence, I start to obsess about just how little I know about the man I just agreed to move in with. While I don't need to know every little detail about his life up until he opened the door for me, the basics would probably be a good idea. Especially since I'll have to be able to assure my dad this guy isn't a psychopath.

"So," I say, breaking up the quiet in the room, "you said you were away. I assume for work?" Edward nods, so I continue. "What is it that you do?"

"I'm a sports agent, actually," he explains with an air of pride lacing his voice. "It's why I'm out of town so much. I'm often away recruiting new talent."

My dad is going to love this guy. Possibly more than me . . . _Wait . . . um . . ._

"That sounds really cool. Have you been doing it long?" Yes, I am aware how the question sounds, but it's too late to take it back. Maybe he won't notice. I'm sure it's just me because my mind has been in the gutter since I first got here, and my mentality is now mirroring that of a twelve-year-old boy.

"About five years now," he tells me coolly. Apparently it _is_ all me.

"Did you always know that's what you wanted to do with your life?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation rolling because I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing his voice. Yup, I've definitely gone crazy. There's no longer a doubt in my mind. It's okay, though; I think I can make peace with it.

"Yes and no." Edward laughs and takes another drink. "I was pretty into sports in high school, and even went to college on a football scholarship."

I never much cared for football . . . until now.

"It was in my senior year of college that I was approached by an agency. It wasn't to sign me, though." I half-expect this to be upsetting for him, but he sounds surprisingly happy about it all. "They wanted to recruit me to work _for_ them.

"My college team was good . . . and I mean we were _good._" I'm not sure why—because normally I would be repulsed—but the cocky tone in Edward's voice sends a shiver down my spine. I'm basically fighting the urge to launch myself across the table and straddle his thick, football-playing thighs. While I inwardly struggle with this, he continues speaking . . . not that this helps my situation any. "The agency had heard that I'd played a big part in scouting the players, and they thought I'd be an asset. So I looked over what they wanted to offer me, and I couldn't pass it up," he finishes explaining. "It's been pretty great."

I laugh, absent-mindedly playing with the rim of my empty glass. "You know, I was worried about what my dad was going to think of all of this—my shacking up with a guy I just met . . ." My eyes snap up to his, widening because I _so_ didn't mean it in the way it sounded. "N-not that we're 'shacking up'," I amend.

Thankfully, he doesn't dwell on that part of what I've said. "And you think he'll be okay with it now? Knowing I'm a ruthless head-hunter for up-and-coming athletic talent?"

I lock eyes with him and lean onto the table. "I don't think you understand; my dad is insane about sports. Like 'teenage-girl-obsessed-with-vampires' insane," I explain, gaining another deep chuckle from him. Even though this newly-learned information about Edward might help me soften the blow, I'm not naïve enough to think my father won't still be initially upset about everything.

"So, I realize that it's kind of personal, but the more information I can give to my parents, the better my chances are of _not_ being put into solitary confinement," I half-kid. Edward laughs, but I don't think he really gets that my dad would probably go to such lengths to keep me safe—not that Edward is really a threat to my safety.

Getting up, Edward heads back to the fridge and grabs the pitcher of lemonade, topping up both of our glasses before setting it on the table and sitting again. "Well, my full name is Edward Anthony Cullen. I'll be twenty-eight on June twentieth. My parents, Carlisle and Esme, live here in Phoenix. My dad is a general practitioner, while my mom owns a successful bakery downtown."

"Any siblings?" I ask.

Edward shakes his head. "Nope. I'm actually adopted. My parents couldn't conceive, so after a lot of option-weighing, they started the adoption process."

Edward and I talk a little bit more about his upbringing in a small town just south of Phoenix before my phone vibrates in my pocket. I notice the time first and realize I've been here for more than two hours. It seems only right that my mom is calling.

"Sorry," I apologize to Edward before pointing to the patio door. "Do you mind?"

Edward winks, and I damn-near fall out of my chair. "Hey, it's your house now too."

Yeah, I think I'm about to die and go to Heaven.

Trying to calm my now-thundering heart, I stand up and answer my phone, sliding the door open and stepping out onto the deck. "Hey, Mom."

"Hi, baby. How did it go? Did you find the place okay?"

"Yeah, I did. It's amazing, Mom. You'll love it." I look back over my shoulder to see Edward cleaning off the table. Naturally, my eyes fall back to his ass as he leans over to wipe the wooden surface. I apparently have no sense of morality left. "I'm actually just finishing up, I think. I'll be on my way home soon, okay?"

I stay outside for a minute after hanging up, looking out toward the desert from the back porch. A breeze picks up, and I inhale the fresh air as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds and warms my face.

"Everything go okay?"

I turn toward the voice and smile when I see Edward leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah. I didn't realize how much time had gone by. I'm surprised she didn't have my dad dispatch a search unit." Edward eyes me curiously. "Oh, he's the chief of police."

"Impressive."

"It kept me from getting into any real trouble as a teenager, I suppose," I joke, slipping my phone back into my pocket. "I should probably get going, though."

Backing up into the kitchen and making room for me to pass through the threshold, Edward nods. "Of course."

"I'll call and let you know when I plan to start bringing my things over, if that's all right?"

Smiling, Edward walks me to the door. "I look forward to it."

I let the words repeat over and over in my head, wondering if he's flirting with me. The idea that he might be is appealing, but the possibility that he's not is more likely.

"Thanks again for everything, Edward. It was nice meeting you," I tell him, holding out my hand for him to shake. Truthfully, I want to hug him, but it's probably inappropriate—especially since I'm not sure I could control myself enough to eventually let go. Even from a foot away, his scent is intoxicating. I wonder what cologne he wears . . .

"And you, as well, Bella." Before I am able to, Edward grabs the doorknob and opens the door for me. It's sweet, just like when he pulled my chair out for me in the kitchen. "Feel free to call me if you need anything in the meantime, okay?"

My heart skips a beat, and I can't seem to stop my smile from widening almost painfully. "Yeah, okay. Um, bye."

"Bye."

Walking down the stairs feels weird, almost like it's not right. Was this what my mom was talking about last week? I laugh at myself as I approach my truck because the idea that I could feel this way after only a couple of hours is silly. It's just not logical. Maybe I feel like this because Edward has offered me an incredible opportunity, and I'm seeing him as some kind of white knight.

Okay, that just invites a whole new rush of fantasies that are bound to get me in trouble.

Shaking them off, I tell myself that I'm probably just reading too much into it—seeing signs where there are none—but when I see Edward standing on the porch as I climb into my truck, I start to wonder if maybe Mom is onto something. He waves, and I return the gesture, pulling away from the curb and heading for home.

Dad's cruiser is in its spot next to Mom's SUV when I arrive. He's home early, and I feel dread knotting in the pit of my stomach. There's no way I'll walk away sane if I have to see them going at it a third time. Even though I don't actually want to acknowledge that it's a possibility, I grab my phone and text my mom to let her know I'm right outside.

She responds almost immediately. A good sign, for sure.

_Bella, get in the house. We're not animals. ;)_

Yeah . . . right. She thinks she's so funny with that little winky-face guy.

Knowing that she probably wants to be caught just as much as I want to catch them—which is not at all—I head for the house. I'm happy to see that they're sitting in the living room, Dad in his recliner and Mom on the end of the couch closest to him.

"Hey, honey," Dad says as I lean down and kiss his cheek first, then Mom's. "Your mother tells me you went to look at a place today?"

I take a seat next to Mom, nestling up against her as she wraps her arm around me and hugs me close. "I did. It was beyond perfect . . . and the price was more than reasonable. I probably won't even need you guys to help out," I tell them excitedly.

"Oh?" Mom inquires.

"Yeah, it's only four hundred a month. For a _house_. It even has a pool . . . and my room has a balcony that looks out toward the desert. It's stunning."

Dad's inner-cop is showing all of a sudden. "Sounds a little too good to be true, don't you think?"

What _I_ think is he just likes having his baby girl home again. "That's what I thought, but that's what the guy said he wanted," I tell him, shrugging slightly.

Mom squeezes me supportively. "Well, that's great, sweethear—"

"Wait a minute," Dad interrupts, his voice low and interrogating. "_He?_"

Shit.

Mom must not have caught it until he repeated my slip-up. Slowly, she loosens her grip and sits up. "You told me this person was a woman," she says, her eyebrows rising. The look in her eyes is the same one I had seen when I was sixteen and lied about sleeping over at Jane's house so I could go to a party.

"_Technically_," I say, going back to our conversation earlier in the day, "you _assumed_ the landlord was a female, I just failed to correct you."

Before she can say anything else, my father launches himself out of his La-Z-Boy and booms, "Absolutely not! It's out of the question!"

"Dad, he's a really great g—"

"I don't care if he's the King of England; you're not moving in with some guy you found through a classified ad," he orders. "I raised you better than that, Isabella."

I hate when he talks to me like this. There used to be a time when I'd roll over and just submit to whatever he demanded because I knew he loved me and was just looking out for me. But now? Well, I know he still loves me, and that's where his little outburst is coming from, but I like to think that he's raised me to be a pretty good judge of character.

"You're right," I tell him, forcing him to stop pacing the floor in front of the flat screen and look at me. I stand up so I don't feel about three inches tall while I try to tell him how I feel. "You raised me to know better than to just move in with a stranger. But, isn't that essentially what one does in college when they get a new dorm mate? I didn't know Leah from Eve, and she wasn't cra—" I stop myself mid-sentence when my father crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows in challenge. "Okay," I continue, "bad example.

"My point is, I asked this guy all sorts of probing questions. I think I know more about him than I even knew about Jake, for crying out loud." My dad still doesn't look convinced, so I cross over to him and look up into his stern brown eyes. "Daddy," I say softly, and I can see his resolve beginning to break. "I'm twenty now. A grown up. I need to do this. I don't know how everything will turn out, but isn't that kind of the point of life? We wouldn't learn anything if we knew what was going to happen next."

"I just . . . Bella, if anything ever happened to you because I failed to protect you . . ." The poor guy looks absolutely terrified. Will he stay up nights worrying that my new living situation is dangerous? I don't want that, and I start to wonder if my moving in with Edward is something he can even handle.

"Charlie," Mom says, interrupting my thoughts before I start to seriously consider calling Edward and telling him I can't move in with him. "Maybe we should trust that she knows what she's doing. You did educate her on everything she needs to know to keep herself safe."

She does it. She has broken his resolve.

With a sigh, he flops back down into his chair, propping his arms on his knees as he looks up at me. "I'm going to want to meet him. If I am going to be able to trust that he's providing a safe place for you to live, I'm going to want to get to know this guy."

My head bobs up and down quickly. "Yeah. Obviously. I'll give him a call and set it up." Relieved, I look between my mom and dad. "Thank you for being so cool about this . . . eventually."

Dad laughs, making me feel a little more at ease. "That's me. Cool."

Since the situation has been diffused, Mom suggests ordering a pizza for dinner to celebrate. I'm not sure if we're celebrating my new digs, the fact that I came home for once and didn't catch them getting coital on a new piece of furniture, or that Dad's head didn't explode when he found out about my new roommate. Maybe all three.

Pizza night also means we eat in the living room and watch a movie. It's been a tradition ever since I can remember, and one of my favourites. After we all finish eating and our movie ends, I clean up before excusing myself to go and do my homework. I still have to finish up my paper before class tomorrow, and I am not going to let Berty down again after my last grade.

Just as I am putting the finishing touches on my paper, my phone rings. Smiling when I see the number, I connect the call. "Hey, Alice. How's it going?"

"Pretty good. You?" she responds.

Pushing my laptop aside, I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. "Really good, actually. I just found a place a little closer to school," I tell her excitedly.

"Seriously? That's so great!" Alice squeals, making my ear tickle. "I mean, it sucks you won't be staying on campus anymore, but I'm glad you found a place." She pauses for a minute. "It's not too dumpy, is it? I mean, I know it can be tough to afford off-campus housing as a student."

"Actually, it's pretty great. The room has a beautiful view of the desert and even overlooks the pool."

"Pool?" I think I can hear a tinge of jealousy lacing Alice's voice. "So you're in an apartment complex with a pool?"

I shake my head even though I know she can't see me. "Nope. It's a house—a gorgeous house—with its own private pool. I'm actually hoping to start moving my things in this week . . . Actually, I was going to give you a call tonight to see if you could tell me when the best time I should stop by the dorm is. I know when Leah's classes are, but I'm worried about Jake. Have you . . . have you seen him around the dorm?"

"Almost every day," she tells me, much to my chagrin.

I shouldn't be surprised; he is still trying to call on occasion. I just tend to ignore him entirely and pretend it's not happening. He's also tried talking to me between my classes or on my lunch hour. I've taken to driving off campus so I can eat in peace.

I sigh heavily, not really looking forward to the possibility that I'll run into either of them. I know it's bound to happen; I really just don't want it to. "Okay. Then I guess I'll have to try to stop by when I know he's got class, and just hope to hell that he goes to it."

"That's probably a good idea," Alice agrees. "Let me know when . . . maybe I can give you a hand. You shouldn't have to face either of them alone after what they did to you."

"Thanks. Maybe I'll take you up on that," I say before stifling a yawn. "Sorry. I'm exhausted. I'll talk to you later?"

After saying goodbye, I set my phone on my nightstand, move my laptop over to my desk, and get dressed for bed. Opening my door, I pad into the hall, sure to walk heavily—just in case—and stop at the top of the stairs. It's been pretty quiet down there, so I'm confident I'm not interrupting anything as I call down—because I'm not dumb enough to risk _going_ downstairs. "Mom? Dad? I'm turning in now. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Mom says back.

"Sleep well, Bells."

I turn off my light, slip back into my room, and slide beneath my thin comforter, nestling in for a solid night's sleep. It's still early, but I think the previous night's lack of sleep is finally catching up with me. As my eyelids begin to fall, my body starts to feel heavy.

The last thing I see before I fall asleep is a pair of deep green eyes.

**::: Rw/aV :::**

I'm in such a deep sleep that I miss my alarm and start the morning late. The morning is a blur as I run around my room, dressing and gathering up my things. Thankfully, Mom has been up for the last two hours and has prepared me a breakfast sandwich to take with me on the way. Even though my truck is slower than molasses, I make it to school with just enough time to slip into my first class without the professor noticing.

At lunch, I call Edward and let him know that I'd like to bring a few things by. He doesn't answer, but I leave a message, assuming he must be working. I tell him to give me a call by the end of the day if that poses a problem; he doesn't, so I suspect he probably won't mind. Plus, he did give me a key and tell me to start moving my stuff over whenever was convenient.

When my classes are over for the day, I decide to head down to the dorm. I know Jake should be in his pop culture class, so I should be able to get in and out without seeing or hearing from him. Walking through the quad, I decide that I don't feel like lugging my backpack around as well as tote boxes to and from my vehicle, so I toss it onto the front seat before I go off to pack.

As I make my way through the lot, I start to feel really good about the new direction my life has taken. I never thought that Jake's cheating on me would turn out to be a good thing.

Nobody really pays attention to me as I make my way through the hall; it would seem that steering clear of this place for the last week has made everyone forget the drama that had unfolded here. I was definitely a little nervous that people would remember everything and stare while pointing and gossiping about me. Needless to say, it's a relief when they all let me walk by without so much as a glance.

I round the last corner to go to my old room and stop dead in my tracks, slowly backing up out of view and pressing my back against the wall.

Even though I am certain he should be in class, Jake is pacing the hall in front of my door. I thought I would be able to face him, but seeing him there makes me realize I can't. It's not that I think I still have feelings for him—I don't—but I am still angry at myself for falling for his and Leah's lies. I don't really enjoy confrontation, and I definitely don't want to get into it with him when there are students milling around in the halls. And there's no way in hell I'm going to close myself in a room with him.

Without thinking, I grab my phone from my pocket and blindly dial.

"Hello?"

Relaxing a little, I exhale softly. "Hey, I need a favour."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: Oooooh . . . a favour? Who did she call and what could it be about? I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

**So, we saw a little more Edward and Bella in this chapter. I had quite a few people ask why Bella didn't ask more questions, and the simple answer is she was a little impulsive. This is how it's always been planned, and her unexpected behaviour and tendency to jump to conclusions will only add to the hilarity of future chapters with these two ;-)**

**Did Papa Swan react the way you all thought he would? Think Edward will be able to win him over?**

**Until next time.**

**xoxo**


	5. The Truth Always Comes Out

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**Thanks again to all my awesome readers! Your constant words of encouragement keep me going! Love to you all!**

**To my lovely betas, TDS88 and Twimarti, your continued support and keen eye for my lingering issues with the blasted comma are very much appreciated! **

**Now, let's find out who Bella called, shall we?**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5. The Truth Always Comes Out<strong>

I know I shouldn't have made that call, and honestly, I didn't even realize what I was doing until it was already done. Sure, there were several other people I could have asked for help, but none of them came to mind in that moment.

For some reason, all I saw was _him_.

"Bella?" I turn toward the main doors and see a familiar head of bronze hair. Just the sight of him relaxes me a little, and I smile.

He's making his way toward me, and I don't fail to notice how every pair of female eyes is on him as he passes by. He doesn't seem aware of any of them, though; his eyes are locked with mine.

"Hey," I say to him when he stops in front of me. He looks good in another pair of his fabulous jeans and a light grey sweater, and I'm finding it hard to focus for a split second as I get caught up in the same fog as yesterday. Finally, I find my voice. "Thank you so much for coming. I'm sorry if I pulled you away from something important."

Grinning, Edward shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you felt you were able to take me up on my offer to call if you needed anything. Packing a few boxes seemed much more appealing than paperwork anyway," he jokes, making me laugh. "So, which room is yours?"

All I do is look at him for a moment, still kicking myself for not being completely forthright with him over the phone. "Um, before I take you there, I should probably tell you something."

Even though it probably shouldn't be possible, Edward's smile widens, his green eyes sparkling like emeralds. "Don't tell me you have a cat."

I'm momentarily confused until I remember the "no pets" stipulation in the ad I responded to. "Oh, no. It's nothing like that. It's just . . . I, um . . ." I can't seem to say what I have to.

This seems to concern Edward. "Bella, what is it?"

"My boyfriend," I blurt out, causing his brow to furrow in confusion. "Well, more accurately, my _ex_."

"Oh."

It's obvious he doesn't know what else to say, so I continue. "We broke up last week, and he's been trying to find a way to talk to me ever since. But I really have no interest in hearing anything he has to say." I take a deep breath, because I'm starting to ramble. "Well, he's supposed to be in class, but he's not. He's right outside my room."

Realization shines in Edward's bright eyes. "Ohhhh. So you wanted me to tag along because—"

"Because I'm hoping he won't air our dirty laundry in front of others. Especially not a stranger," I admit, ashamed that I'm basically asking if I can use him. I'm a terrible person. "God, I'm sorry. That sounds pretty crappy, huh?"

Edward shakes his head, almost like he understands. "Nah. It just sounds like you want to put this part of your life behind you without any drama. I get that." He's possibly even more attractive to me now; I'm so screwed.

"So, which room is yours?"

After taking a few deep breaths, I lead him back around the corner. Jake is still there, even though at least a half hour has passed since I called Edward. My step falters when he turns and sees me. It isn't until I feel a warm hand press against the small of my back that I proceed. I try to breathe normally while Edward's hand remains on me, but butterflies have taken up residence in my stomach, and my entire body feels like a crackling live wire.

Jake notices the innocent touch, and his eyes leave mine to find Edward. I'm barely able to contain an arrogant smirk when Jake's stare hardens angrily, and his hands ball into fists at his sides. He looks like he's about ready to punch something . . . or some_one_.

"Where have you been?" Jake demands, still staring at Edward but clearly talking to me. "I've been calling you and calling you . . . I even stopped by the coffee shop."

"I know. Kate told me," I tell him, surprised by how icy cold my voice sounds as I push past him and slip through the door with Edward hot on my tail. "I was out. I thought she told you."

Jake laughs dryly. "You don't go _out_," he states like he knows me so well. "You're too busy studying these days." Okay, so maybe he does.

The ridiculous accusation of his cheating being my fault haloes his statement, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much it stings. "Maybe that's just what I told you."

"Bella?" Edward interrupts softly, drawing my eyes to his. I feel a wave of calm wash through me, casting the nerves aside as I get lost in a sea of green. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Um, that's my stuff there. I think I still have a few boxes in the closet from when I moved in," I tell him, my voice smooth and controlled, and point to my side of the room.

While Edward puts together one of my broken-down boxes, I start stripping the bedding off the single bed. Edward and I are working together to fill a couple of boxes with my belongings, and I'm trying really hard to ignore Jacob, but I can feel him standing right behind me.

"Look, Jake," I say without turning to face him, "I have nothing left to say. Honestly, I don't even care anymore."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he snarls, grabbing my arm lightly and forcing me to turn around.

Before I even know what's happening, Edward has pushed his way between us, forcing Jacob to break his hold on me, and is staring directly into Jacob's eyes. "I believe she told you she had nothing to say. Why don't you run along to class now, _boy_, and leave us to pack up her things?"

Something goes through me when Edward stands up for me. I don't know what it is as I've never experienced anything like it before. At first, I think it might be fear because I can feel what I assume to be rage rolling off him in waves. That theory is soon shot to hell, because my entire body tingles, my knees feel weak, and my breathing deepens.

No, it's definitely not fear that I'm feeling moving downward from the pit of my stomach.

"And just who the hell are you?" Jake demands. He doesn't give Edward a chance to respond before looking behind him at me. "Is this the clown you went out with the other night?"

"So what if it is?" I ask snidely. I know it's wrong to lie about something like this; I can't help but let Jake believe that Edward and I were together in some way.

He sneers at me and then Edward. "Didn't take you long to move on."

I can't control the maniacal laughter that suddenly fills the room. "You're joking, right? You're accusing _me_ of moving on too soon? You've decided to play the pot today, then?"

Jake's nostrils flare, and he focuses solely on me. Whatever he's about to say won't be pretty, but I'm ready for it.

Edward doesn't let him get a word in edgewise, though, turning to me and holding my upper arms lightly. Slowly, he runs his hands over the length of my arms, and I sigh when they clasp mine. "Why don't you take the first box out to the truck while I finish up here, then we can head home."

"_Home?"_ Jake repeats. "You're already living together?"

I narrow my eyes angrily at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but—" Before I'm able to finish telling him that I'm just Edward's tenant, Edward very slightly shakes his head, as though to tell me he doesn't want me to say anything. Why?

"I'll meet you out by the truck after I'm done, okay?" he says, tilting his head toward the door.

Glancing once more at Jake, I nod before averting my eyes, grabbing the box on my bed, and heading for the door. "I'll see you outside," I say to Edward.

"Bella," Jake calls after me, but I don't turn around. "Bella!"

I keep ignoring him and continue down the hall. People are looking at me again, and I try to pretend not to notice. Instead, I try to focus all of my energy on not dropping the box or having the bottom of it break apart, spilling its contents in the hall.

I'm happy to say I make it outside with the box still intact, and after putting it in the back of my truck, I move to the driver's side and sit down on the step rail. I check my phone periodically and realize that almost twenty minutes have gone by since I left Edward and Jake alone. Worry starts to set in, and I'm about to go check if everything is okay when I see Edward emerge with another two boxes stacked in his arms.

I push myself to my feet and meet him halfway, taking the top box from him and leading him back to my truck. "So, did he leave after I did?"

"More or less," Edward vaguely replies.

I push the box into the back of my truck and turn to him. "What does that mean?"

Edward closes the tailgate and smiles at me. The way the right side of his mouth curls up a little crookedly, flashing his brilliant white teeth, makes my stomach flip; I wonder if he knows that's a pretty deadly weapon. "He tried to start something, and I finished it. I don't think he'll be bothering you for a while."

I'm curious to know what he said to Jake, but the look in Edward's eyes tells me more than I need to know.

"He cheated on you," he says quietly, sitting on the rear bumper.

With a sigh, I join him, clasping my hands in my lap and staring at them. "He did."

"With your roommate." It isn't a question; he's telling me that he knows without a doubt.

Swallowing thickly, I glance at him through the corner of my eye. "Did he . . . did he tell you that?"

Edward shakes his head. "No, I gathered as much from the way the two of you were arguing." He pauses for a minute, letting out a quiet snort-like sound. "Well, that, and your ex-roommate showed up. She has issues taking no for an answer, doesn't she?"

"Ew," I say, feeling a little nauseous that Leah tried to sink her teeth into someone as sweet and caring as Edward. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

I find it hard to do as he says. The fact that I've dragged him into my mess is very upsetting. It won't surprise me if he's regrets taking me on as a roommate.

"He's jealous, you know." Snapping out of my self-pity, I draw my eyes to his, confused by what he has just said. He must see this and decides to clarify further. "Of what he thinks you and I have." Chuckling, Edward shifts and bumps his shoulder against mine playfully. "I say make him stew in it. Let him think what he wants."

I can't help but laugh and actually feel a little better about asking for Edward's help. Sure, when I originally called him, it was to ask him to act as a buffer between Jake and me. It never once occurred to me to ask him to pretend to be my new boyfriend.

Who wants to pretend?

The metal of my truck groans as Edward stands up, my eyes, naturally, following him. "Come on," he says, holding out a hand to help me up. "Let's take your stuff back to the house."

My cheeks warm, and I bite my lip as I place my hand in his. "That sounds like a good idea." I'm just about to hop into my truck when I turn back to him. "Hey, thanks again for helping me out. I didn't mean to use you like that. I just . . . Everyone else I know is aware of what Jake did, and I didn't want to talk about it. To me, you were, I don't know, safe?"

"It's really not a problem. I was happy to help . . . in whatever capacity I could. Come on, let's go home."

My heart starts fluttering, and I feel like I'm going to pass out. I realize that hearing Edward call his own house "home" shouldn't make me swoon, but the fact that he's referring to the both of us going "home" makes me light-headed. It's been a pretty fabulous couple of days.

Well, minus the Jake part.

We arrive at the house in a little under fifteen minutes, and Edward hops out of his fancy little sports car, rushing to help me bring my boxes inside. After we haul the boxes up to my new room, Edward excuses himself to take care of a business call while I begin to unpack a few things.

I'm just setting the time on my alarm clock when I realize I should call my parents and let them know where I am. I don't want them to worry.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I dial the house phone. Mom picks up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mom," I respond.

"Hi, sweetie. Where are you? Your father and I were expecting you a half hour ago."

I look around, a big smile forming as I take in the soft blue of the walls of _my_ room. "Sorry. I meant to call. I finally stopped by the dorm and packed my stuff. I just wanted to bring it by Edward's place before I came home."

"Oh, well that makes sense. How did it go?" Something in her voice tells me that she's wondering if I ran into any unwanted drama.

"Fine," I tell her, but I sense she knows I'm leaving something out. I sigh heavily. "I'll tell you everything when I get home. I should finish up here, though. I'll see you in a bit?"

"Sounds good, baby. I'll save you some dinner."

Mom and I say goodbye, and I slip my phone back in my pocket before I start to hang my clothes in my over-sized closet. I've never considered myself the type of person who felt the need to have a closet full of clothes, but seeing my piddly two-foot section of wall with hanging shirts and my small stack of folded jeans . . . well, I'm starting to wonder if a shopping spree is in order.

I bet Alice will be happy to take me.

After putting my few belongings away, I break down my boxes and leave them in my closet until I can ask Edward what I should do with them. I stand in the middle of my room and look around at the few little odds and ends that I've put out. It's weird how strangely right they all look.

Before I leave, I head to my balcony doors and open them up, stepping out and placing my hands on the sturdy railing as I stare out at the desert. The sky is a combination of oranges and yellows as the sun sets to the west. It's beautiful, and I can't believe this is my life now.

Knowing I should probably get home, I pull myself away from the amazing view and lock my balcony doors. Still in a state of disbelief, I run my hand over the smooth bedspread on my way to the door. My being able to live in a house like this while still in college shouldn't be possible, but Edward made it so.

I make my way down the hall, noticing for the first time the photos that hang on the walls. I stop at one of Edward and two people I assume to be his parents. They look nice. Loving. It's not a surprise that Edward grew up to be such a great man.

Tearing myself away from the happy faces in the pictures, I wander closer to the stairs, stopping immediately when I see another door on the opposite side of the staircase, away from all the others. I'm curious to see what's behind it, mainly because the ad said this was only a two-bedroom home. Sure, the study probably used to be a bedroom, but what was this room?

My hand rests on the doorknob, and just as I'm about to turn it, I realize what I'm doing. I yank my hand back, fully aware that I've almost invaded Edward's privacy. I decide to ask him about it . . . once I'm a little more comfortable in my new home, that is.

Edward is in the kitchen making something to eat when I finally make my way downstairs. He hears me enter the room and turns to me with a smile. "Hey. Get everything squared away?"

"Yup," I tell him. "Um, I broke down the boxes and left them in my closet, though."

With an arched brow, Edward turns his head toward me as I sit at the island. "Planning a midnight move already?"

I laugh, and a blush ravages my cheeks. "No. I just didn't want to leave them lying about."

He turns back to the stove and chuckles. "No worries. It's recycling day on Thursday. I'll grab them and put them out for pick up."

"Thanks." I push my stool back from the island and prepare to stand when Edward turns around with two plates in his hands.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. "You're not leaving already, are you?"

"Um . . ."

Edward sets both plates down on the island, one in front of me and the other next to it. "It's just, I haven't cooked for myself in so long, and I wound up making too much. I was thinking maybe you'd like to join me?"

_Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod._ _Is this really happening? Is Edward asking me to eat dinner with him?_

Because it's all I seem to be able to do in Edward's presence, I smile as wide as that creepy cat in _Alice in Wonderland_. "Yeah, I can stay," I say, sitting back down and looking at the amazing-smelling pasta dish he prepared. "Just let me text my mom to let her know I'll be a little longer."

He looks pleased, taking his seat next to me as I send the quick message. "Well, bon appétit."

Good Lord. My heart goes into over-drive until all I can hear is my own pulse echoing in my ears. English-speaking Edward is too much to handle, but knowing he speaks _French_? I think I'm about to die of cardiac arrest.

He said his dad is a doctor, right?

"So," Edward says, his voice breaking into my tumultuous thoughts. "I realized yesterday after you left that we didn't really talk about how this cohabitation thing was going to work."

He's one-hundred percent right. It never even occurred to me in between all of the inappropriateness that had flooded my brain.

I'm not sure if there are questions I should ask, mainly because the inappropriateness is just as rampant as it was yesterday. Good thing Edward knows how to keep a conversation rolling, because I can't.

"Obviously, I want you to feel at home here. There's a lot of shared space, and I don't want you to feel that if I'm in a room, you can't come in . . ."

I'm just swallowing a bite of pasta when he says that, and I begin to cough after inhaling a string of linguine. Immediately, thoughts of him in the shower and me walking into the steamy bathroom fill my brain . . . And now I'm imagining him in his bedroom—naked—and I just come on in . . . because he said I should feel at home, and that's what I do at home—walk in on people at the worst possible times.

As I get my coughing fit under control, I look over at Edward, who is a very serious shade of red. It's good to know I'm not the only one with a terminal case of foot-in-mouth disease.

"I'm sorry. That didn't quite come out right. What I meant to say was—"

I wave my hand dismissively, because if he goes into clarifying, I'm still going to transform it into something filthy. "That's okay," I tell him, my voice dry and raspy.

Edward hops up and grabs me a glass of water, watching me, concerned, as I chug it. "Are you all right?"

I nod, setting the glass down. "Yes. Fine, thank you."

"I guess I just don't want you to feel like you have to tip-toe around here. If you're hungry at two a.m. for whatever reason, feel free to raid the fridge or pantry. If you want to have guests over, that's fine. All I ask is no outrageous parties."

"Oh, yeah, of course. I'm not really one for the parties anyway. I'm way too involved with my studies," I tell him.

Nodding, Edward pushes his food around his plate. "We'll have to figure out some sort of laundry schedule . . . for obvious reasons."

Great. Now I'm wondering if Edward's a boxers or briefs kind of fella.

We continue to discuss how we see this living together thing working out. Turns out it shouldn't be too much of an adjustment, especially when he reminds me about his work schedule from time to time.

"I don't have any trips lined up as of yet, but sometimes they're very spur of the moment," he explains. "I'm not your parent, Bella"—_thank God for that_—"and you're not a child. If you'd feel more comfortable having someone come and stay with you while I'm away, I'd understand. Girlfriend . . . boyfriend . . . Whatever."

I laugh. "I don't think that last one will be happening."

Edward doesn't look at me, instead seeming a little too interested in the piece of broccoli in his Alfredo sauce. "I doubt that." His voice is quiet, but I still hear him.

He sets his fork down and turns his whole body toward mine. "All I'm saying is that I don't want you to think of me as your landlord. I'd like for us to be friends. This is your home now too."

"Thank you," I respond, touched by just how much he wants me to feel like I'm at home.

We each take another bite, having ironed out a few details, before Edward asks, "So, how did your parents take the news about you moving out?"

I giggle. "Moving out was never the issue. The issue was that I was going to be living with a man." Edward chuckles lightly. "My dad was fine after I explained things a little more rationally. He's still concerned, but I'm his only child. I get his fears."

"He just wants to keep you safe," Edward deduces.

"Exactly," I agree. "Actually, he had one stipulation."

Edward's eyebrows rise curiously. "Which was?"

"He wants to meet you," I tell him, kind of nervous for his reaction.

"I can do that. If it's going to set your father's mind at ease, I'd love to get together," he offered.

Beaming brightly, I lock eyes with him. "Great! I'll set it up."

When we've both finished dinner, I offer to clean up before I have to go. I'm just rinsing the last dish and putting it in the dishwasher when Edward's phone rings.

Apologizing to me first, Edward picks up his phone. "Hey, Rose," he answers, looking at me briefly before standing up and heading for the patio. "No, no. Now's fine. How was your day?"

Once he's outside, he closes the door, and I'm left standing by the sink, watching him through the window as he laughs into the phone with some woman named "Rose."

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><p><strong>AN2: Okay, so I know how it looks, but remember: I promised no angst. Bella just tends to make assumptions with little to no actual proof ;-)**

**What did you think? Leave me a review and I'll send you a teaser to the next chapter!**

**Until next time.**

**xoxo**


	6. Sometimes, Violence IS the Answer

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**Readers, as always, you floor me with all the great reviews! I can't even put into words how truly blessed I feel to have you all along for this journey! *HUGGLES***

**So, who wants to meet the parents? Oh, right . . . and we have that pesky Rosalie situation to tip-toe around, don't we? Well then, let's get down to it . . .**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6. Sometimes, Violence <em>IS<em> the Answer**

"Of course he has a girlfriend," I mumble to myself as jealousy needles it's way under my skin, my eyes never leaving him through the window above the sink.

I imagine her to be a total knockout. I mean, there's no way someone who looks and acts the way Edward does could possibly be with anyone less than gorgeous. My vision of this Rose person is ethereal. She's so beautiful that I can't even guess what colour her hair and eyes might be because it wouldn't do her natural beauty justice. It wouldn't even matter anyway because she's so perfect that she'd look good no matter what.

She's tall, because Edward is, and she's got curves that a woman should be proud of. And while my body isn't terrible, I know it's not nearly as voluptuous as I assume hers to be. Because of her terrific body, there isn't a doubt in my mind that she's a rock star in bed. And me? Well, I drove away the only sexual partner I've ever had.

Add that to being the last female a gay guy dated before coming out, and my track record is pretty friggin' stellar.

She'll be really nice too, not some cold as ice bitch who thinks she walks on water, because I don't think Edward would put up with that. Not even for the rock star sex.

The more I think about Edward's perfect girlfriend, the more frustrated and stupid I feel for ever thinking he was flirting with me. The way he stuck up for me with Jake, the winking . . . Clearly, I was reading way too much into what were obviously very innocent and _friendly_ gestures. As usual.

Grumbling some more, I wipe my damp hands roughly on the dishtowel I'm holding when the door slides open and Edward walks in.

"Sorry about that." He takes in my agitated state and frowns. "Are you all right?"

Blushing, I drop my gaze from him and tuck my hair behind my ear with my free hand. "Yeah, I should really just get going. Let you get on with your night and all that," I tell him, tossing the towel onto the counter and snatching up my phone. I won't be surprised if he can hear the notes of jealousy in my voice, because I sure as hell do.

I realize that I'm behaving irrationally—and possibly a little childishly—but I hate that I let myself be dazzled by him when I should have known there was no possible way he could be available.

He follows me from the kitchen, his long stride allowing him to beat me to the door. "You don't have to, you know. I actually don't have any plans for the night. Feel free to stay and make yourself at home." I'm right back to feeling confused; he's very clearly involved, and yet he's asking me to stay.

"Thanks, but my parents are expecting me anyway," I say, offering him an uncertain smile. "I don't have school on Friday, so I'll probably bring the rest of my things by . . . if that's all right?"

Edward smiles, green eyes glimmering. "Don't be silly. Of course it's all right. You'll call if you need any help?"

I nod. "Of course. I'll talk to you soon. Thanks again for everything this afternoon. It . . . it really meant a lot."

Still grinning, Edward opens the door for me. "I'm just glad I could help. You'll drive safe?"

"Always do," I assure him before waving and making my way down the steps.

Like last time, he stands in the doorway until I drive away—and who knows; maybe he stays there for a while after I'm out of sight. _Unlikely, _I deduce.

I arrive home without dwelling too much on the new information I've learned about Edward's . . . availability, only to find my dad in the kitchen, cleaning his guns. He's got the table covered in canvas, and his various guns and cleaning supplies are spread out in front of him.

"Hey, Dad," I greet, walking to the fridge and grabbing myself a bottle of water and a beer for him. "Where's Mom?"

"Thanks, kid," he says when I set the beer on the table and pull up a chair beside him. "She went to meet your aunt for coffee. How was dinner with your new landlord?" I can hear the tension in his voice just mentioning Edward—even if it isn't by name.

"It was good. He said he's more than willing to meet with you. Told me I should set it up," I inform him.

"He know I'm a cop?" He stops cleaning his shotgun just long enough to glance up at me without moving his head, one of his eyebrows arching menacingly.

"He does, so your scare tactics won't work on him," I'm sure to tell him pointedly.

Smirking wickedly, Charlie flips his wrist, snapping the barrel back into place. "We'll see about that."

Having seen this over-protective side of my father before, I just laugh and shake my head. "Besides," I continue, ceasing my laughter, "it's not like I'm dating him, or even plan to."

Dad remains silent, setting his gun aside and reaching for his Glock. There's something in his eyes that tells me he's still afraid of not being able to keep me safe. It's silly, considering I lived in the dorms all last year and have been living in them again this year up until this point. It's not like this is much different.

Except for the being all alone in a big house . . . with just one person . . . and no one around to hear you scream . . .

Okay, so maybe I can see where he's coming from.

Instead of freaking myself out entirely, I decide that I need to remind him that he raised me to be educated on how to defend myself. I set my water down and wipe my hands on the thighs of my jeans. "Do you need a hand?"

Smiling, my father hands me the still-assembled gun, hand grip first, and grabs another for himself.

As though it's second nature—which, it kind of is—I keep my finger off the trigger and eject the magazine before I pull the slide back and check the chamber and magazine well for any cartridges. I do this several times because with this particular type of Glock I'll need to engage the trigger to dismantle it. And I can't be blowing holes in the walls or floors all willy-nilly. To be doubly safe, I remove all ammunition from the room and put it with all the rest on the also-canvas-covered dining room table.

With Charlie watching on, I dismantle the gun. First, I de-cock the striker, pull the take down tabs, and then pull back toward the rear of the frame. The slide then moves freely off the front of the handgun.

I do this all in under twenty seconds, and Charlie chuckles proudly. "Glad to see you remember all of this."

"Of course I do. Gun safety is important," I tell him, parroting words he's spoken through my entire life.

While I set the broken-down firearm out in front of me, I think back to a time when I was little. Fresh home from work, my dad would always, _always_ unload his guns, being sure to put the ammo out of reach. It was ingrained into me from the minute I could understand that we were to respect the rules of gun safety.

Every time he would set up to clean them, I would sit at the table and watch him, propping my face in my tiny hands. It was fascinating to me as a child, especially when he would explain what he was doing as he did it and why. I learned a lot even just watching him.

I was sixteen when he and my mother felt I was old enough to let me learn how to disassemble a gun. Always a responsible gun owner, he had checked to make sure it wasn't loaded and the safety was on before handing it over and tutoring me.

It was later that day that he took me to the shooting range and taught me how to use it. I won't lie; I thought it was going to be easy. I mean, I had shot a bow and arrow in archery class for gym before and had to wonder how much harder aiming a gun could be. Well, bows don't have a kick-back, and I missed the main targets time and time again.

Eventually, I got the hang of it . . . and I very rarely miss my intended target these days.

I've got the gun's parts laid out in front of me in the order I'll be cleaning them; frame, slide, barrel, and, finally, the guide rod and recoil spring. I look up to see that Dad is already wiping the parts to his backup firearm—a Smith and Wesson Airweight Revolver—down, and I reach for an extra rag.

Since Dad doesn't fire his gun often—a blessing, to be sure—there's not a lot of carbon build up to be removed. After wiping all of the parts down, I apply the solvent and let it sit for a few minutes before scrubbing the whole gun down and wiping it clean with a lint-free cloth—inside and out.

Finally, I oil the inside of the barrel and the rest of the necessary parts thoroughly. Satisfied with how clean it is, I reassemble the gun and check that all the parts slide properly before wiping it down to remove any excess oil.

"There you go," I say, handing the gun over to Dad for one final inspection.

He sets his revolver down and looks over my work. I'm not offended; I need to know that it's operational so that it doesn't misfire when he might need it most.

"You did good, Bells," he praises. "Maybe I was a little premature to think you couldn't take care of yourself."

"Well, to be fair, I only cleaned the gun . . ." I smirk mischievously. "Though, if you'd like to take me to the range to see if my aim is still better than yours, old man . . ."

Just then, the door opens and Mom calls out for us.

Dad smiles. "You're lucky your mother's home."

With a scoff, I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. "You mean _you're _lucky," I correct him cockily.

"Pot_ay_to, pot_ah_to." Charlie sets his finished revolver down and pushes away from the table to greet my mom as she enters the kitchen. "Hey, sweetheart."

Mom giggles as Dad wraps his arms around her and kisses her. It doesn't take long before they forget I'm here, and I loudly scrape my chair across the tile before standing up. "Okay, well I can see the two of you are in need of some adult time." Mom and Dad don't let go of each other, but they do acknowledge me by turning their heads.

Backing out of the kitchen, I point over my shoulder. "I'll, uh, be up in my room . . . music blaring . . . Dad, I'll call Edward and see if dinner tomorrow sounds good?" I don't wait for him to answer before turning around and booking it up the stairs. "Cool! Later!"

Up in my room, I close my door and turn on my stereo. It's not too loud, and I can hear the murmured voices of my parents below me. If I listen really close—not that I'm doing it on purpose, believe me—it sounds like they're on separate ends of the kitchen and not . . . you know . . . _together._

I'm able to relax a little knowing that I'm not going to hear them in the throes of passion, and I pull my phone from my pocket and sit on the edge of my bed. I've pretty much committed Edward's number to memory, my fingers moving swiftly over the touch screen keypad.

He picks up on the second ring. "Hey. Miss me already?" Obviously he doesn't realize who's calling him; maybe he thinks it's that girl . . . um, _Rose._

Nervously, I bite my lip and try to hide the disappointment in my voice. "Hi, um, this is Bella?" My voice rises at the end as though I'm questioning my own identity.

"I know that . . ." Edward chuckles. "But _you_ sound a little unsure."

"Sorry. I just thought that maybe you thought I was . . . someone else."

Edward's quiet for a minute, and I find myself wondering what it is I interrupted him doing. Even though I know he's in a relationship, my brain starts imagining him in a lot of naked at-home activities. Laundry, cooking, cleaning . . .

Okay, so I guess they're not really _supposed_ to be naked activities, but that's apparently how my foggy brain likes to think Edward spends a majority of his time when he's at home. Naked.

"So what's up?" Edward asks, interrupting my perverted thoughts. Again.

I shake my head clear and try to remember why I'm calling him. "Oh, sorry. I talked to my dad tonight, and he thinks tomorrow would be a good night for you to come over for dinner. You know, before I move in full time . . . Unless you have something already planned?"

"Hmm . . . nothing that can't be re-scheduled."

His response shocks me. He hardly knows me, and he's so willing to just rearrange all of his plans . . . just to meet my parents? "You're sure? I don't want to interfere with work or anything."

"Trust me, it's fine," he assures me. "What time should I come over?"

Thinking for a minute, I try to remember what time Dad will be home from work; I want to make sure I have enough time to prepare Edward for some of Dad's usual interrogation techniques. "I have class until four, so maybe around five? That way we have time to talk before my father monopolizes most of your time with his nonsense."

"Bella . . ." Edward's tone sounds almost chastising. "His wanting to keep you safe isn't nonsense. Cut the guy some slack."

I laugh. "Keep that frame of mind and you'll have no problems winning him over," I tell him. "And if all else fails, you've still got that sports agent card to play."

"Yes, I suppose I do," Edward agrees with a laugh, and I find myself envisioning how his smile makes the outer corners of his eyes crease. "But I think your father and I will be able to find common ground on the issue of providing you with a safe place to live."

All thoughts of Rose disappear in an instant when he says that. I know I'm likely hearing something in his tone that's not really there, but I can't help but let him dazzle me just once more. I know I've tried to pass all of that soul mate, love at first sight stuff off as a bunch of mumbo jumbo, but I think I've come to the stark realization that what I feel for Edward is more than just a schoolgirl crush.

**::: Rw/aV :::**

The next day at school, I'm flying high after getting my paper back from Professor Berty. I'm more than happy that I was able to prove to him that my last low score was a one-time thing.

As usual, the halls are crowded, making me feel like I'm constantly walking the wrong way down a one-way street. I wonder why someone hasn't implemented road rules into pedestrian areas. It would make sense, and people wouldn't be constantly running into everyone . . .

My peculiar musings are suddenly interrupted by Alice, who pushes her way through the sea of people just to get to me. It shouldn't be possible for her tiny frame to be quite so strong, but she is; she's somewhat of a genetic anomaly.

Once she reaches me, she loops her arm through mine and we continue on, people now moving out of our way so we don't have to plow through them. "How was your morning?" she asks as we walk toward the food court.

"Pretty good, actually."

Finding an available table, we sit down while we decide what it is we want to eat. Naturally, Alice keeps the conversation flowing. "How did everything go last night? You didn't call, so I assume it went well?"

My face scrunches up, and Alice's expression falls. "Oh no. What happened?"

I begin to tell her how I found Jake lurking outside my old room. She was a little hurt that I didn't call her . . . until I explain how it wasn't anything personal; I just didn't want to talk about everything that had happened between Jake and me.

"So what did you do?" she asks.

"I called Edward," I explain. "I guess I figured maybe he could act as some sort of buffer, and was hoping Jake wouldn't talk about what he and Leah were doing behind my ba—" I stop talking instantly when my eyes find Jake less than thirty feet away. I'm immediately irritated, and I can feel the fury over his unwavering persistence beginning to bubble in the pit of my stomach.

Alice turns around to see what's distracted me, scowling the minute she sees the source of my ire. "What the hell is his deal?" she demands, glaring daggers at him.

He's just standing there, which confuses me a little. Up until yesterday, he'd have come over to try and make me forgive him. All of a sudden, he turns on his heel and takes off, but something still lingers in my memory. Then it hits me like a . . . well, like a fist to the face.

"Holy crap," I say under my breath.

Alice turns back around, looking concerned. "What is it?"

Closing my eyes, I shake my head. "Well, I could be wrong, but I think Edward might have punched Jake," I tell her, opening my eyes to find her gawking at me.

"What do you mean 'you think'? Weren't you there?"

I shake my head. "No, Jake was pretty agitated . . . he even grabbed me. Edward told me to take the box we'd packed out to my truck and he'd meet me out there." I think back to what Edward told me about what happened after I left. "When Edward came back out to the truck, he'd told me Jake tried to start something and he _finished_ it. I didn't think he meant—" I don't finish speaking, snatching my bag off the floor and bolting for the doors and toward my old dorm.

"Bella?" Alice is following me, asking what's going on, but it's not until we barge into my old room that she understands. The pictures that normally hang straight on the wall sit askew; one is actually broken on the floor, and there's a large dent in the cheap drywall behind where it used to hang.

Alice is grinning from ear-to-ear. "He got into a fight with Jake defending you? Who is this guy, and when can I meet him?"

I should find it morbid, but as I run my fingers along the large crack in the wall, all I can think is that Edward got into a fight . . . possibly protecting my honour. Is it wrong of me to find it sexy?

Of course, then I remember he has a girlfriend who he probably defends.

"She's so lucky," I mutter under my breath, closing my hand and pulling it away from the wall.

"What?" Alice asks, clearly not hearing me clearly.

"Hmm?" I turn to her. "Oh, nothing. We should probably go before—"

Naturally, I'm not that lucky.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Leah snarls, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. She looks like she's ready to pounce.

"We were just leaving," I tell her. "I just wanted to make sure I didn't forget anything yesterday."

Leah laughs, throwing her head back like she's baying at the moon. As soon as her nervous twitch—or whatever the hell it is—is over, she steps into the room and gets in my face. "Nope," she says, popping the "p." "Broken pictures, holes in walls, bruises on exes . . . I'd say you got everything you came for yesterday."

I shake my head. "I didn't—"

"No," she interrupts, "but that creep you call a boyfriend did. If I hadn't gotten here when I did—"

It's my turn to interrupt her. "What? You would have missed the opportunity to wiggle your ass in his face and whimper like a bitch in heat?"

"Bella . . ." Alice says, trying to diffuse the fast-escalating situation.

Leah's eyes snap wide as if I'd just slapped her—an appealing idea, come to think of it. "How dare you," she growls.

"No, how dare _you,_" I challenge right back.

Leah takes another threatening step toward me, and out of nowhere, all the rage I've kept bottled up these past couple of weeks explodes. I shove Leah away from me, but she fights back, throwing the first punch.

Now, if I weren't the daughter of a cop, she might have connected on her follow through. Her first mistake was assuming I didn't know how to fight.

I dodge her right hook easily, using the momentum to deliver one of my own, connecting with her jaw. Alice gasps loudly from the doorway, and Leah stumbles backward, her hand clutching her jaw while she looks at me with wide, shock-filled eyes.

"That," I tell her pointedly, "was for screwing Jake behind my back, you skank." Turning my back on Leah, I head for the door. "Come on, Alice. We're done here."

The adrenaline coursing through my veins has my entire body vibrating as we walk through the hall and toward the exit. I can't believe I just did that . . . and even more? I can't believe how much better it makes me feel. I'm not usually a violent person, but how did Leah _not_ have that coming?

Once we're outside, Alice stops me, her smile stretching wide across her face. "That was incredible!" she squeals. "Who knew you had it in you, you little southpaw?"

Still stunned, I shake my head. "I honestly didn't mean to. It was strange," I explain. "It's like something just went through me, and I couldn't hold back my anger anymore."

"Well, I, for one, am glad you did it. She deserved it after what she did to you." Alice takes my hand and pulls me back toward the main building. "Come on, let's go grab a quick bite to eat before our next class."

My stomach growls loudly in agreement, and I laugh. "Sounds good. I'm suddenly famished."

For the rest of the afternoon, all I can seem to think about is my altercation with Leah, and Edward's with Jake the day before. I have to wonder why he didn't tell me what happened. Did he think I would be upset? There's really only one way to know for sure, and that's to just come right out and ask him when I see him tonight.

I'm home around four-thirty, and I rush upstairs to put my bag away and fix my hair. I know it's pointless since Edward has no interest in me, but that doesn't mean I still can't look my absolute best, right?

By five o'clock, I'm pacing in the living room like a crazy person, running my fingers through my hair—and then fixing it because I've messed it up—before occupying my hands by biting my nails, which is a habit I thought I'd given up when I was in grade school.

Edward is set to arrive any minute to meet my parents, and I'm absolutely freaking out. You'd think I was introducing them to an actual boyfriend and not my landlord. It really is ridiculous just how nervous I am about all of this.

Of course, it's not just introducing him to my parents—Daddy in particular—that's freaking me out; I'm trying to figure out exactly how and when to ask him about Jake's new shiner. I've decided not to bring it up in front of either of my parents, because I know it won't end well.

While I wear a hole in the area rug, Mom is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. Dad isn't due home until six, but I know I'll need the extra time to warn Edward about the usual scare tactics he's used in the past.

The doorbell rings, and it startles me a little. Gathering my composure, I check my hair in the mirror above the mantle and call out, "I got it!"

When I pull the door open, I see Edward on the front step. He's handsome, dressed in a faded pair of blue jeans, a dark blue button-up shirt, and a black blazer. In his hands is a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and my jaw drops.

"Good evening, Bella," he says, his smooth voice pulling my eyes up to his.

"H-hi. Thanks for coming. Come in, please. Can I take your jacket?" I offer.

"These are for your mother," he says, handing me the flowers so he can slip his coat off to give to me. It disappoints me a little, but I get over it soon enough when I realize he's just trying to make a good impression on them.

After hanging it in the closet, I lead him to the kitchen where Mom is checking on dinner in the oven. "Mom?" She looks up, smiles, and closes the oven door before straightening up. "This is Edward Cullen. Edward, this is my mom, Renee."

Stepping around the counter, Edward outstretches a hand, smiling wide. "Mrs. Swan. It's a pleasure to meet you. Bella's told me so much about you."

"It's nice to meet you, Edward." Glancing between the two of us, Mom smirks, and I know that no good can come of it. "You're even more handsome than Bella described. Tell me, are you seeing—"

My cheeks are _blazing_, and, before she can humiliate me further, I thrust the flowers in her face. "Look, Mom, Edward brought you flowers. Pretty, huh? You should probably put them in some water." I turn to Edward quickly and continue to ramble, not allowing my mother to get another word in edgewise. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? Water? Wine? Beer?"

Edward is chuckling through my entire spazz-attack. "Iced tea would be great. Thank you."

I pour Edward and me each a glass of iced tea while my mother puts her flowers in a vase. "We'll be in the living room," I tell her, leading Edward from the room and, essentially, her inevitable attempt at matchmaking.

We have a seat on opposite ends of the couch, and I tuck my legs up under me, facing him. He doesn't seem nervous at all about tonight, facing me with his left arm draped casually along the back of the couch while the other holds his glass.

"Your mom seems great," he says before taking a drink.

I groan. "I'm so sorry about that. She sometimes speaks without really thinking. She had no right to try to ask if you were involved. I mean, it's really no one's business."

Edward laughs, and I'm treated to the sparkle in his eyes that tells me it's genuine. "It's not a problem."

I fall quiet, staring down at the beads of condensation on my glass, trying to figure out how to ask Edward about yesterday after I left the dorm.

"Bella?" Edward's voice is soft and full of concern, his warm hand covering mine briefly and sending a shudder through my frame.

Without thinking, I blurt out, "I saw Jake today." Looking up through my lashes, I notice Edward's skin blanch and his green eyes fill with guilt. "I need you to tell me _exactly _what happened between the two of you."

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><p><strong>AN2: So, what did you all think? I know a lot of you were hoping Edward and Jake would throw down, and I also know you all want to actually _read_ that scene, so just take comfort in knowing it's one of the outtakes I have planned ;-)**

**Well, let me know what you thought about this chapter! I never tire of hearing from you guys! I trade teasers for reviews!**

**Until next Monday.**

**xoxo**


	7. Let the Interrogation Commence

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

***momentarily falls into stunned silence* **

**I'm at a loss for words, you guys! Seriously! The reviews for this story far surpass anything I ever expected for this silly little story! You guys are amazing! It's your kind words that keep me going week-to-week, and these chapters are your reward for being sofa king awesome :)**

****I feel the need to remind some readers that Edward is an only child. I know this speculation game I'm playing regarding who Rosalie is to him has been frustrating, but I can tell you with 200% certrainty that she is NOT his sister ;) Keep the guesses coming, though ;-P****

***NOTE* It was pointed out to me by a reader that I've got a few things about Edward's house wrong for the area he's in. While I realize this is "just a fic," I want everything to flow properly and be as believable as a fanfiction story can be to those native to the Phoenix area ;) So, I've gone back and changed up his patio to sleek stone (as opposed to wood because apparently termites are rampant in the deserty areas). I've decided to keep the basement, even though they are apparently a rarity in AZ, but not all-together non-existent ;)**

**Now, I know I've been dragging this out a little longer than necessary, so I'mma just get down to it . . . Who wants to meet the parents? Show of hands?**

**One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Okay, okay! I can't count that fast! I'll just let you all read on ;)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 7. Let the Interrogation Commence<strong>

Edward seems to be at a loss for words. Even though I've only known him for a handful of days, I know this is not usual for him.

Finally, he sets his glass on the coffee table and brings his left knee up onto the couch so he is facing me entirely. "I regretted it the instant it happened . . . well, kind of." Edward runs his hand through his hair, tugging on it once he reaches the back of his head. "Shit. You must think I'm some kind of barbarian."

"What?" I ask incredulously. "Not at all. I'm just . . . confused." I laugh, scooting a little closer to him. "What happened?"

"After you left, I tried to go back to gathering your things," Edward begins. "The minute my back was turned, he started in on me about you. About _us_. I had no interest in speaking with him—he's a twit." My lips twist up into a smirk, and I fight a snicker. "I'm sorry, but he is."

Shaking my head, I hold my hands up in surrender. "No. No need to apologize. I can clearly see that now. But, obviously you didn't hit him _just _because he's an idiot?"

Edward chuckles, relaxing a little. "No, that's not why I hit him." Edward pauses and looks me in the eye, likely gauging my reaction to everything so far. "I had already deduced that he'd been unfaithful, so when he started calling you out for being . . . _unladylike . . . _" Based on his brief moment of silence, I have a feeling that Edward is uncomfortable being crass, because Jake probably called me a slut or something equally insulting. "Well," he continues, "I felt this deep desire to protect you.

"I know we've only just met, Bella, but to hear him talk about you like that? Well, forgive me, but it pissed me off."

I swallow thickly and try to control the impulse to pull his face to mine and kiss him senseless. It's really the most self-restraint I've ever shown _in my life_. "So you hit him," I say in a raspy voice, knowing already that it happened.

"Well," Edward responds, his nose scrunching adorably and his eyes narrowing. "Would it be terribly juvenile to say he started it?"

I can no longer hold back my laughter. "While I think that defense only works in six-year-old court, I can totally relate."

It's Edward's turn to be confused, so I don't wait too long before I go into a few of the details from my afternoon. "My friend, Alice, and I were in the food court at lunch when Jake showed up." Edward inhales deeply, his eyes widening, but he lets me continue uninterrupted. "As soon as I saw his newly acquired shiner, I suspected that something more went down between the two of you, and I raced to the dorm to see if maybe I was right."

Edward drops his head in shame. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for things to ever get out of control . . . but when he tried to punch me, I reacted . . . by punching him."

The first thing that registers in my mind isn't that Edward punched Jake—mainly because I already knew that—but the fact that Jake threw the first one. I feel sick to my stomach knowing this, and I look over every inch of Edward's face for any signs of bruising. I see nothing but his usual perfection.

"Are you . . .? He didn't . . .? Did he?" Apparently, I'm only capable of speaking in half-sentences as opposed to picking one and following through.

Smirking, Edward leans in until I can smell the spicy undertones of his heavenly cologne. My breath is shaky, and a light quiver works its way through my body.

"I'm fine," he replies in a soft voice. "I may be nearing thirty, but I'm still pretty spry."

All of the breath leaves my body, and my lips are doing this nervous twitchy thing that probably resembles some weird, psychotic almost-smile. It's all I can do to _not _imagine just how spry Edward really is.

_With his girlfriend,_ I mentally tack on, jarring me from my current state of insanity.

"So, are you going to be in much trouble for the damage to the wall?"

"Yeah! I mean, no, I won't be in trouble, but please explain to me how that happened," I demand lightly, my eyebrow arching.

Edward chuckled. "Well, as you can imagine, that ex of yours didn't really enjoy my hitting him and tried again." With a single, nervous laugh, he turns away from me and leans on his knees, looking down at his tightly clasped hands. "I grabbed him and slammed him against the wall to make a point."

I scoot back over until we're mere inches apart, mirroring his position except to look at him. "Which was?"

He sighs heavily, and I feel the deep desire to reach out and lay my hand over his, but he speaks before I can act on it. "I let him believe what he initially thought when he saw me with you, and I told him that as long as I was in your life that he'd be wise to keep his distance. He must have believed me, because he took off in an instant . . . and then _Leah_ showed up."

I laugh at how he sneers her name. "I hope her behavior didn't scar you for life. I can't even begin to imagine what she tried with you; I've quite literally seen it all."

Edward grimaces. "That's . . . disturbing. I assure you, you won't have to worry about that sort of thing living with me."

"I should hope not," I tease. "I'm a little tired of roommates poaching my boyfriends."

"Well, you can be certain that won't happen," Edward tells me with a light chuckle, reaching for his glass and taking a sip.

Of course, I already know this because A) he has a girlfriend, and B) he has a _girl_friend.

Suppressing the longing feelings that have been clouding me since he arrived, I smile. "Well good, because I'd hate to have to do to you what I did to her."

Edward's eyebrows pull together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Shrugging, I begin to tell him about my run-in with Leah. He seems to be overly amused by my admission, laughing when I tell him how I punched her. "So," I continue, "I guess you're not the only one with a violent streak. I hope you have homeowners insurance."

His laughter grows, and I'm instantly affected by it, laughing right along with him. It's so strange to me how we both seem to have instantly clicked, almost as though we've been friends for years rather than days. Honestly, I feel like I can trust him with my life.

"Don't worry," Edward says, "I'll be calling the insurance company tomorrow and adjusting my policy."

Taking another drink, I glance at the clock on the cable box and realize Dad will be home within the next fifteen minutes. We'd gotten so wrapped up in our conversation that I'd completely lost track of time. "Crap. My dad's going to be home any minute, and I haven't even warned you about what to expect."

"Bella, I'm sure you're over-exaggerating about how he's going to react."

I shake my head, knowing for a fact that I'm not. "When he comes through that door, he'll take his jacket off but leave his holster on so his gun is in plain sight," I tell him, remembering how he'd "welcomed" Jake that same way when we'd begun dating. "He's going to intimidate you and try to shake you up. You can't let him."

Before I can warn him further, the front door opens. Dad's home early.

"Bells? Renee?"

"I'm in here, Charlie!" Mom calls out from the kitchen. "Bella and her friend are waiting for you in the living room."

I swallow thickly before setting my glass on the coffee table and standing up, wiping my now-sweaty palms on my jeans. "Good luck," I tell Edward quietly, turning to see Dad in the foyer.

As promised, Dad takes his jacket off and hangs it in the closet before joining us—holster on. Quickly, Edward stands and makes his way around the couch, holding out his hand. "Mr. Swan. It's so nice to finally meet you."

Somewhat hesitantly, Dad accepts Edward's handshake—but says nothing—so I decide to break the ice. "Dad, this is Edward Cullen. The man I'll be renting the room from."

"We'll see," is all he says before taking a seat in his recliner. He doesn't sit back and get comfortable, though; instead, he sits on the edge and leans on his thighs, his deep brown eyes staring hard at Edward.

Edward and I sit back down on the couch, but I'm far from relaxed; my back is straight, my posture rigid, and my pulse is racing.

"So, Mr. Swan," Edward begins, his voice confident and smooth. "Bella tells me you're the chief of police."

Dad nods. "I am."

_Great,_ I think to myself. _We're in for the short-answer replies. This is going to be like pulling teeth. . ._

Edward is determined, though, and continues without balking. "I can only imagine it's a very rewarding career—to know that you're out there making the city a safer place."

There seems to be some kind of staring contest going on between the two of them, and it makes me nervous. My fingers are twitching, and I have to press my hands hard into my thighs to keep from fidgeting while the silence drives me mad.

"I do what I can," he says, and I feel as though I can breathe a little easier now that the unnerving quiet has broken. "I feel that safety in the home is where it all starts."

_Here it comes_.

"I couldn't agree more," Edward concurs confidently, even going as far as to smile at my dad.

Charlie smirks, but it's not out of amusement. "As I'm sure Bella's told you, I'm not too keen about this living situation." He points between the two of us, and Edward nods, clearly not wanting to interrupt. "I've done everything in my power to keep her safe for the last twenty years, so to hear that she was planning to move in with someone—a man, no less—that she found through an advertisement in the local newspaper . . . Well, let's just say I've witnessed enough in my years on the force to be a little leery."

My mouth has just opened to tell Dad that he's jumping to all the wrong conclusions, when Edward beats me to it. "While I understand your concerns, Chief Swan, I assure you that I mean your daughter no harm. I don't know what all Bella told you, but my home is located in one of the newer gated communities here in Phoenix, and I had a state-of-the-art alarm system installed upon moving in."

"So, no one can get in, and no one can get out."

My eyes and mouth widen in disbelief. "Dad!" I scold, completely dumbfounded by his comment. "That's not what he's saying. God, chill out."

Maintaining his composure, Edward smiles and turns to me. "No, Bella, it's okay. I get it."

He's just turning back to my dad when I reach out and grip his bicep—his strong, hard bicep. With his eyes back on me, I inhale shakily and remember what it is I was about to say. "No. It most definitely is _not_ okay," I say, glaring angrily at my father.

The cocky jerk only grins at me; he's screwing with us, and it only seems to be riling me up. "Bells, would you mind grabbing me something to drink?"

His request worries me a little, but there's something in his eyes that tells me I needn't. "Uhhhh . . ." I look between Dad and Edward, and when my eyes catch Edward's, I'm surprised by how at ease he still seems—even after my father's less-than-kind remarks. Confident, even. "Y-yeah. Sure."

As I leave the room, I hear Charlie asking Edward more about the neighbourhood his house is in. While I want to duck around the corner and listen in on their conversation, I know I'll be found out one way or another. So I continue on, only hearing the first little bit of Edward's answer before I'm in the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetie," Mom says, looking up from her cookbook. "What's up?"

"Um, Dad asked for a drink," I say with a shrug, pulling a stool from under the counter, plopping down on it, and resting my chin in my hands. "But I know he was just trying to get rid of me so he could interrogate Edward."

"He's cute," she blurts out, and I immediately grimace.

"Oh yeah, scaring the crap out of the guy I have to live with is really freakin' adorable."

Mom laughs, shaking her head. "Not your father—well, him too, I suppose—but I was _actually _referring to Edward."

Warmth fills my cheeks, and I find myself looking anywhere but at my mother. "Um, I suppose he's a little good-looking."

Because she's my mother, she sees right through me. "Yeah, 'a little.' Please, Bella. You were making googly eyes at him the entire time you were standing in the kitchen."

I'm offended—and also not surprised. "I was not!" One look from her and I'm burying my face in my hands. "Okay, okay," I mumble into my palms before peeking at her through my fingers. "What am I going to do?" The left side of her mouth turns up into a sly smirk, and I grab the tea towel off the countertop and toss it at her with a laugh. "Mom!"

Abandoning her cookbook, she comes around and pulls the other stool out next to me. "Relax, I was only teasing. He seems like a very nice young man."

I smile, thinking of all the wonderful things I already know about Edward. "He really is. Yesterday, he helped me at the dorm," I tell her, realizing I never got the chance to tell her about any of this last night.

"Well that was sweet." She pauses briefly. "I didn't realize you had all that much stuff there, though."

Dropping my hands back to the counter, I sigh heavily. "I don't, but when I got there, Jake was waiting."

"Oh, I see."

"I didn't want to face him alone, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about any of it," I told her. "Not that Edward wasn't able to figure everything out on his own, anyway." I laugh, remembering Jake's initial reaction. "Jake thought Edward and I were an item; he wasn't too thrilled by the idea."

My mom arches an eyebrow inquisitively. "You didn't . . . correct him, did you?"

"I was _going _to—"

"Bella," she interrupts.

A smile spreads across my face, and I bite my lower lip lightly. "Edward wouldn't let me. He actually had me take one of the boxes out to the truck and told me he'd finish up."

Mom seems stunned—just like I was when it originally happened.

"But he's got a girlfriend, so my feelings are completely unrequited," I inform her quietly.

Clucking her tongue, she wraps her arm around me and pulls me into her side. I rest my head on her shoulder. "Oh, sweetie."

Suddenly, I hear Dad's laughter coming from the living room. My head flies off Mom's shoulder, and I look at her, shock clearly written across my face as I launch myself off my stool. By the time I make it back to the living room, Dad is relaxed back into his chair—his holster no longer on or even in sight.

What the hell happened while I was in the kitchen? I didn't think I was gone that long.

Dad looks extremely happy, his eyes shining with what I assume to be tears of laughter. I can't even put into words how shocked I am to be witnessing this. And here I thought Police Chief Swan was going to be a hard-ass the entire evening. Clearly, I underestimated Edward's ability to win him over.

"What's going on in here?" I ask, looking between the two of them with wide eyes.

Dad glances at me, looking somewhat perplexed. It's then that I realize I've forgotten his drink. Thankfully, Mom's right behind me to save the day.

"Bella, honey, you forgot your father's beer in the kitchen." Mom hands Dad his beer and sits on the armrest of his chair. "Dinner should be ready right away," she announces, draping her arm over Dad's shoulders.

Settling back onto the couch—possibly closer to Edward than before—I try to get a feel for the atmosphere in the room. Mom and Dad begin to talk quietly amongst themselves, so I decide to ask Edward how he managed to change Charlie's pre-conceived notions so quickly.

"So," I begin, "things are going well?"

Edward chuckles quietly, shifting his body to face mine again. His knee touches mine, and a spark shoots through me. I'd blame static, but this seems to be the effect he has on me every time we're together. "Your father's not quite as terrifying as you seem to think."

"Yes," I argue. "He is."

I think Edward is about to tell me what was said between him and my dad but is interrupted by my parents standing up, and my mom announcing that dinner is ready.

Mom and Dad lead the way to the dining room where the table is set for four: two places on one side for Mom and Dad, and two on the other for Edward and me. Dad, Edward, and I find our seats while Mom heads back to the kitchen to retrieve dinner.

"This smells absolutely amazing, Mrs. Swan," Edward proclaims, pulling my chair out for me.

My parents' expressions aren't missed as I accept Edward's chivalrous act. Their eyebrows shoot straight up, widening their eyes, and their mouths are gaping slightly. While I'm sure Edward has already caught the looks they are giving us, I clear my throat to make them stop.

Mom's the first to speak, setting the casserole down in the middle of the table. "Thank you, Edward. It's one of Bella's favourites. And, please, call me Renee."

We all take a minute to dish up before Mom gets the conversation flowing. "So, Edward, what is it that you do for a living?"

I find myself sitting up a little straighter and looking at my father while awaiting Edward's answer. I anticipate a huge reaction because Dad's generally pretty animated when it comes to anything sports-related.

"Actually, I'm a sports agent," Edward announces.

Charlie's looking at Edward, but there's no excitement. I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed.

"I think it's kind of cool," I say, gaining a strange look from my mom. I can understand her reaction—I'm not a sports kind of person—but I'm trying to get my dad excited about this.

Edward shoots me that crooked smile that makes me all tingly. "Thanks. I was actually just telling your dad that it was my agency that helped sign the Cardinals' new quarterback."

Well, that would explain my dad's lack of response; he already knew. Damn, I was hoping to have been around for that.

"In fact, Charlie . . ." I'm stunned by Edward's use of Dad's first name, but neither one of them seems fazed. "The team's manager gave me a few extra tickets to their next game. I don't suppose you and your family would like to join me?"

Dad's eyes practically bug out of his head, and the food he's just scooped onto his fork falls back to his plate with a quiet _splat_. His astonished reaction makes me feel a little better about not having been around when Edward told him about the sports agent thing.

"You mean the game next weekend? Against the Seahawks?" Dad looks like he's about to pass out; I'm starting to get concerned.

Mom interjects, setting her fork down and placing a hand on Dad's shoulder. "Charlie grew up in Forks, Edward. The Seahawks are his favourite team."

Smirking, Edward swallows the bite he'd just taken, grabs his napkin from his lap, and wipes his mouth. "Well, that's too bad." Dad seems confused. "It's going to be hard to watch them lose, then."

Mom and Dad are staring incredulously at Edward, and I'm not even sure how to react. Surely my dad is going to blow a gasket and throw Edward's cocky ass out of the house. It looks like I probably won't be moving into my new place.

_Goodbye, new life. I'm sure you would have been great . . ._

"Well, that seems awfully confident," Dad retorts, shocking me completely.

Edward shrugs, the look in his eyes goading my father on further. "What can I say? I have faith in my hometown team."

"Edward," I whisper, gripping my fork so tightly that my knuckles turn white. There's another part of me that's fighting from poking him in the leg with it just to shut him the hell up before he ruins everything. "I don't think that this—"

Dad snorts, and it sounds as though he's amused by what Edward has said. "And the fact that the Cardinals haven't won the last five games hasn't shaken that faith, son?"

I choke—but not on food or drink because I've been far too stunned by Edward's comment to eat. Of course, my shock over that is _nothing _compared to hearing my father call Edward "son."

Did I step through some magical portal into a world where everything is ass-backward? In what universe is my dad this chummy with _any_ guy I've brought home?

While I try to catch my breath, a warm hand begins rubbing soothing circles over my back while another grips my upper arm very lightly. Based on the tingly feelings moving under my skin, I know it's Edward. I finally feel like I can breathe again, and feel a sense of loss when Edward withdraws his hands from my body.

"Sorry," I apologize. "I inhaled and swallowed at the same time." The minute the words leave my mouth, I'm mortified. There's no way that all three of them don't see my face turn a shade of red that rivals the cherry-red pillared candles in the middle of the table.

_Did I seriously just say that out loud?_

I avoid everyone's eyes and push my food around my plate with the tines of my fork, occasionally stabbing at a broccoli floret. It feels like forever before anyone speaks again—even though it's probably only been less than a minute. This, if you ask me, is far too long to think about the double meaning behind my words . . . not that you really have to think to get it.

Edward clears his throat and starts talking about sports again, easily distracting my father. I chance a look across the table to find my mother smiling sympathetically at me. "It'll be okay," she mouths, and I shake my head in disagreement.

I don't speak for the rest of the meal—even when someone directs a question my way. I'm always sure to put a forkful of food into my mouth or take a drink, limiting my responses to a headshake or a nod, and, occasionally, an agreeing hum.

With dinner finally out of the way, my mom brings out a homemade apple pie. Edward looks like he's about to drool a little before telling my mom that apple pie is his absolute favourite.

"Oh, Edward," she says humbly. "You're just saying that."

"No, I'm really not," he assures her, accepting the plate she's holding out to him.

She finishes serving the pie before taking her seat, and is just about to take her first bite when she looks like she's forgotten something. "Bella, honey, would you be a dear and grab the whipped cream? I didn't have the chance to whip it myself, so just grab the can out of the fridge door."

"Yeah, sure," I agree, pushing my chair from the table and heading for the kitchen. I take the time away to give myself a stern talking-to about sticking my foot in my mouth. When I'm sure I can control myself for another hour or so, I return to the table and offer the whipping cream to Edward first.

It would be an outright lie to say that watching him put whipped cream on his apple pie doesn't do unspeakable things to my body; especially when he accidentally gets a bit on the tip of his index finger. God. I'm biting the inside of my cheek to keep from making an embarrassing noise—and crossing my legs beneath the table to quell the dull tingle that has started to spread between them—when he licks his delicious-looking digit clean.

I'd have traded my soul to wrap my own lips around his finger . . .

"Bella?"

Blinking, I let my eyes wander from his fingers to his eyes. It's then that I realize he's offering me the whipped cream, and I'm staring like an attention-starved puppy. Apparently, I don't need to speak to embarrass myself completely. "Sorry. Thanks." I take the canister from him and shake it before turning it toward my plate. My hands are trembling as I push on the nozzle, causing the whipped cream to spray in an un-uniform pattern and somewhat messily. I, too, have gotten whipped cream on a couple of my fingers, so I quickly lick them clean and cut a huge bite of my pie with my fork to keep anyone from asking me a question.

To my left, Edward's fork clangs on his plate, and I can see through my periphery that he's just picking it back up. I wonder what happened there . . .

After dessert, I take everyone's plates and load them into the dishwasher. I'm just putting the last fork into the basket when a deep voice startles me.

"Are you sure you want to leave this behind? Your mom is a pretty amazing cook," Edward says. "I have half a mind to ask if I can move in here."

I laugh nervously, closing the dishwasher and turning it on. "Believe me, less than a week in this house and you'll be Googling lobotomies and the best household chemical combination to make industrial-strength brain-bleach." Edward eyes me curiously. "Just trust me. You don't want to know."

Edward smiles, his green eyes locking with mine. "Well, I just hope you realize I'm not nearly as good a cook as she seems to be. I'd hate to disappoint you." This time, it's his cheeks that turn a bright shade of crimson, and he chuckles nervously, tousling his hair and looking at his feet. "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for suggesting this meeting. I had a really great time tonight."

It's hard to hide my disappointment that the night is coming to an end, so I look down at the towel as I dry my hands. "Good," I tell him, trying to mask the sadness in my voice with a forced smile. "I'm glad you had a good time. I think my parents really liked you. Thanks for agreeing to this." I hang the dishtowel on the oven handle and look up at Edward.

Silence hangs heavy and awkward between us before he glances at his watch. "Well, I guess I should head out. I have to be up early for a few errands. If I'm late, Rosalie will have my head."

My stomach clenches, and my heart aches at being reminded that Edward is in a serious relationship. I must be hiding it well, though, and nod. "Of course. I'll walk you to the door."

After he puts his jacket on, I open the door for him. "I'll see you Friday then?" I remind him.

He nods once. "Definitely. Remember to call if you need a hand moving . . . or anything else."

_Anything?_ I wonder silently before slapping my presumptuous inner-monologue into submission. "I will. Thanks." Edward turns and takes the first couple of steps down the steps. "Edward?" He faces me once more, curious. "I'm glad Jake didn't hurt you. Thanks again for sticking up for me." I can feel myself growing a little emotional, but I keep the tremble from my voice. "No one's ever really done that before."

His smile widens. "Anytime, Bella. Have a good night."

"You too." My voice is soft, and I'm not even sure he hears me as he makes his way to his car.

After standing in the doorway and watching Edward drive away for a change, I close and lock the door before retiring to my room for the night.

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><p><strong>AN2: So, how did you feel about the first meeting? Was it everything you expected? Did you want Charlie to lose his mind just a little bit more?**

**Again, the discussion between Edward and Charlie: future outtake in EPOV. It's not a long outtake, but it's planned ;) Don't you worry!**

**We'll be meeting Rosalie in the next chapter ;) 'Bout time, wouldn't you say?**

**Who wants a teaser to chapter 8? Well, you know what to do to earn it. And . . . GO!**

**Until next Monday, ladies!**

**xoxo**


	8. Everybody has a Type

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**As always, you guys are effing amazeballs! Love you all to bitty-bits! Your reward for showing me more love than I'm used to was two updates last week . . . wanna see if we can make that happen again? Who's up to the challenge?**

**Sorry to those who didn't get teasers, but I did them last night and then went to bed, when I woke up this morning to them (THANK YOU ALL!) it was time to post!**

**My betas are the shit. That is all. They catch any mistakes I've made along the way to make this reading experience more enjoyable to you all ;)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8. Everybody has a Type<strong>

The sunlight begins to stream into my room, drawing me from a content sleep. Slowly, I open my eyes, squinting against the bright light that bathes my room. At first, I find myself confused by the pale blue walls and fluffy white duvet I'm currently nestled under, but then I smile and prop myself up on my elbows as I look around my new digs.

Even from my bed, I can see a portion of the desert through my balcony doors, and I still can't believe this will be what I get to wake up to every morning.

Throwing my blankets off of me, I twist and climb out of bed, stretching tall as I make my way past the three boxes I decided not to unpack last night in favour of sleep after a long day at school. They'll have to wait until later, though, because I have to work at the café this afternoon.

I open the French doors, letting the warmth of the morning sun wash over me as I step out onto the stone balcony and breathe in the fresh air. Just as it was the last time I was standing in this very spot, the desert is breathtaking.

Of course, then I look down, and I think I fully understand the meaning of that expression.

His sinewy muscles move with each long stroke of his arms, starting with his shoulders and down his back, disappearing beneath the black trunks he's wearing. Unable to look away, I lean on the railing and continue to ogle him from afar.

I'm not naïve enough to think that our arrangement won't be a little awkward in the beginning. Not necessarily for him, but for me. I've got all of these feelings that I can't do anything about except maybe wait to see if they pass.

Until the day that happens, though, I'm going to enjoy the view my new room comes with to its fullest extent.

I straighten up quickly when he reaches the side of the pool and looks up to find me gawking. There's a big part of me that hopes he can't see the doe-eyed look I'm giving him. However, being as the second level isn't that far up, I'm extremely doubtful.

"Hey!" he calls up, offering me a wave. "There's coffee downstairs. Why don't you grab a cup and come on out?"

Even though I know I shouldn't, I quickly agree, dashing back into my room and pulling on a pair of jeans and a fitted tee before brushing my teeth and hair and washing my face. I grab my phone off my dresser before leaving my room.

Down in the kitchen, I find a pot of coffee still warming and pour myself a cup. After adding a bit of milk and sugar, I head outside to find Edward. While I knew what he was doing, I still wasn't quite prepared for the sight that greeted me.

As I wander out from beneath the shade of the eave overhanging the dark stone patio, I see Edward standing by the edge of the pool, running a towel over his head to dry his water-darkened hair. His face is blocked by the blue terrycloth fabric, but I'm not really focused on that part of his anatomy anyway; my eyes are far too interested in his strong arms, his chiseled chest and abs, and his muscular legs.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to melt into a puddle or spontaneously combust into nothingness.

He drops the towel and begins to wipe the water droplets from his lightly tanned skin. "How was your sleep? Was the bed comfortable enough?"

Drawing my eyes away from his chest, I nod and walk toward him, taking a seat on one of the poolside chairs. "It was great. Thank you." I take a sip of coffee and then look back up at him. "And yours?"

"I slept better last night than I have all week." Because of me? "I tend to have difficulty falling back into regular sleep patterns after returning home from a long trip," he explains.

"Oh," I reply, feeling both foolish and disheartened that I was wrong. "Well, I'm glad you slept better last night."

Edward sits on the chair next to mine. "You work today?"

Nodding, I sit back on my chair and relax. "I do. It's only a four-hour shift, though. I have a test to study for this weekend."

"Anything I can help you with?" he offers sweetly.

While I'm certain he's a very highly educated man, I decide to tease him a little. "I don't know. I'm not exactly majoring in football."

"Funny," he says with a wicked grin. "I'll have you know I only went to college on a football scholarship, and while it was a big part of my life and how I got noticed for my job, I majored in English."

"So it appears it's not just our violent tendencies we have in common, then," I joke.

Edward laughs. "Yes, I suppose it's not."

Looking out over the pool and at the desert, I sigh. "So, do you do this every morning?" I ask, turning my head to Edward. "Swim, I mean."

He nods. "I do. Well, I try to, right up until it gets too cold, anyway. Do you swim?"

"When I can," I answer. "Do you have plans for today?"

"Actually, I've got a few things to do for work before Rose gets here."

The small smile I've been sporting all morning falls, and I stare down into my almost-empty mug. "Oh, she's coming over today?" I'm both upset by this and mildly curious. "I can't wait to meet her."

Edward stands up off his chair and grabs his towel. "I think you'll really like her. The two of you will get along great."

I won't lie; there's a part of me that doubts the "liking her" part, mainly because I'm totally jealous.

"I'm going to go and have a shower so I can get a start on my day. If I don't see you before you leave, have a good day at work, and I'll see you for dinner?" The way he's smiling at me used to make me think there was something flirtatious behind it, but now I know I must be desperate for some male attention.

"Sounds good," I tell him. "You have a good day too."

Edward heads into the house, leaving me on the patio and staring out into the open desert. It's quiet here. Peaceful. Back at the dorms, there were always people milling about in the halls, parties across the halls, or random men coming in and out of mine and Leah's room. At my parents' house . . . well, there was just the one problem.

Before I get too lost in my disturbing thoughts, my phone rings. I dig it out of my pocket and see that it's Alice calling.

"Hey, short stuff," I tease. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much," she responds. "Just wanted to see how yesterday went. Are you all moved in?"

I shrug. "More or less. I was too exhausted to unpack all of my boxes, but I plan to do that tonight after work."

"So I guess I shouldn't even ask if you want to go to the Kappa party tonight?" Alice inquires. "I know you're not much of a partier, but I figured, what with you and Jake no longer together, that you'd want to go out and have a little fun."

It's not that I don't appreciate her trying to get me to come out, but I'm just looking forward to settling in here.

Okay, okay . . . the fact that Rosalie is going to be here tonight is the main reason I want to stay in; I'm morbidly curious to see the woman who seems to have captured Edward's heart.

"Thanks, Alice, but I think I'm going to stay in tonight. Get settled. Maybe next time?"

"All right," she easily concedes. "Well, I should let you go. I have to get my assignment done before the party tonight. I'll talk to you later?"

"Definitely. Have fun tonight," I tell her before I hang up and head inside to get ready for work.

As I walk down the hall to my room, I can hear Edward's shower going. This then makes me visualize him in the shower. Naked. It's not hard to imagine now that I've seen most of his body; I only have to make up that one part of his anatomy that was covered by his swimming trunks, and I wonder if my brain is being overly generous in that area. I kind of hope not.

It's probably not a bad idea for me to leave for work now and hopefully clear my head. I have to believe that the inappropriate thoughts won't go on forever, or things might never get easier here.

After putting my work shirt on, I leave a note for Edward on the kitchen counter, letting him know to call me if he wants me to pick anything up for dinner. I actually have to write it two times because I accidentally scrawled a few X's and O's on the first one.

When I arrive at work, Kate's busy serving a short lineup of customers. I slip behind the counter and tie my apron around my waist before preparing a few of the drinks in the queue. Once the line has cleared, Kate and I start cleaning.

"How's it been this morning?" I ask, wiping the spilled milk droplets off the counter.

Kate's busy checking the levels of all the flavoured syrups. "Not too bad. How was your night? You're moved into your new place now, right?"

"I am. I just finished moving in last night. Spent my first night there and everything." I laugh lightly. "I actually forgot where I was when I first woke up. It's hard to believe I even live there."

"I won't lie to you," Kate kids, "I'm a little jealous you found such an amazing place for practically nothing."

"Oh, believe me; I'm still in shock about how much it is. Though, I probably would have paid top dollar for it just to get out of my parents' house." My lips turn up into a wistful smile, knowing that it's not just the house that had enticed me to move in. "And the owner . . ."

"Yeah?" Kate inquires, moving closer to me and resting her hip against the counter, her back turned on the till.

"He's just so . . ." Suddenly, the door to the café opens, and I see a very familiar face. "Edward."

Kate giggles. "What is that? Some kind of code?" She begins batting her eyes over-emphatically. "He's just so . . . _Edward._"

Using my towel, I swat her arm and move around her to the till to greet our newest customer. "Edward, what are you doing here?"

That crooked smile appears, and my stomach does a little flip-flop. "Well, I was headed to my first appointment and decided to stop and pick up coffee for the guy I'm meeting." I'm staring blankly into his beautiful green eyes. In this light, they're less emerald and more jade-like. Still absolutely mesmerizing, though. "And I heard you sell coffee here."

"Coffee," I repeat, finally hearing him and snapping out of my daze. "Yeah, we sell coffee."

As I'm waiting for Edward to order, I feel Kate's presence before her arm brushes against mine. One look over at her, and I can tell she's about to get her flirt on.

"Hi," she says, sweetness lacing her already soft voice. "I'm Kate. You must be Bella's new landlord. She didn't tell me you were so . . ." Trying to keep my upper body still, I kick the side of her leg. ". . . tall. You're very tall."

"So, what can I get for you?" I ask, hoping that he didn't hear me implying that he was gorgeous only moments ago.

Looking at the menu above our heads, he hems and haws for a few seconds. "Two double espressos, please, and maybe a couple of blueberry muffins too."

I ring in his order and put the cash in the till before making his coffee. While I prepare his drinks, I can overhear Kate striking up a conversation with him.

"So, Bella says you're some kind of big-shot in the sports industry," she begins.

"Did she, now? Well, I suppose she's right; I'm in charge of scouting up-and-coming talent to represent," he explains.

I can tell she's flirting with him, and while this should upset me, I can't help but notice how he sounds pretty uninterested. He's engaging, sure, but he's not leading her on in any way.

Of course, deep down, I know this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with someone else.

"Here you go," I announce, placing his drinks and the bag of muffins on the counter.

He flashes me that killer smile again, and my cheeks warm. "Thanks, Bella. I'll see you back at home later."

"I'll be there," I promise.

Before exiting the café, Edward turns back to me. "Oh, and don't worry about picking anything up for dinner. I'll figure something out."

The minute he leaves, Kate grabs my arm and whips me around to face her. "Oh. My. God! He's delicious! Is he single?"

I shake my head. "No," I tell her. "I'm pretty sure he's seeing someone."

"Too bad."

The rest of our shift flies, and by five, Paul has shown up for his. Before we go, we tidy up and restock all of the supplies so Paul doesn't have to. Kate and I walk out to our vehicles together and say our goodbyes before taking off.

It's another scorcher out, so before leaving the lot I roll down both windows. The fact that I have to practically lay across the seat and manually crank the lever to get the passenger side down is kind of annoying. I absolutely love my truck, but I'll admit that the luxury of power windows and door locks definitely sounds appealing.

I twist my hair up, securing it with a pen from my purse, and start my truck. The sweltering heat makes me happy to be living in a house with a pool, and I begin to imagine weekends relaxing on a lounge chair and swimming to beat the extreme summer heat. Not to mention, studying by the pool with the beautiful desert view would be so peaceful.

On my way home—it's still pretty amazing to be able to say that—I start to wonder if Edward would be opposed to my having a few people over. I'd like to show my parents the house, maybe further setting my father's mind at ease, as well as a few of my friends. If he's okay with it, I think I'll plan to do just that next weekend, once I'm all unpacked and settled.

After parking my truck in my brand new driveway, I grab my purse and head into the house. Before going in search of Edward, I head upstairs to my room to shower quickly and change into something that doesn't smell like the café.

Stepping into my private bathroom, I turn on the shower. As the room fills with warm fog, I brush my hair out and undress before stepping under the delightfully cool spray of water. The water streaming down over my body is so relaxing, off-setting the sizzling heat of the late-afternoon sun, that I find myself not wanting to get out after I've washed my hair and body clean.

Opening the glass door, I grab the Caribbean blue towel from the hook and wrap it around my body, fastening it just above my breasts. Instead of being cooler, the air is actually a bit warmer as I step out of the shower stall and head back into my room to find something to wear. I step into my closet and begin to look through my clothes, deciding on a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top. I grab a pair of underwear, foregoing a bra because it's hot out; I'm not so well-endowed that it's a necessity, anyway.

Besides, in this heat, underwire just doesn't sound comfortable.

I remove my towel, hanging it on my closet doorknob for a moment while I dress. My shorts are definitely that—_shor_t—but I'm roasting, so the fact that they barely cover my butt and show the lower bit of my front pockets doesn't concern me too much. I'll just have to refrain from bending over.

Even though my wet hair feels nice and cool against my warming back, I know I'll need to tie it up before it becomes an issue. I grab an elastic off my dresser and fasten a messy half-ponytail, half-bun on the top of my head.

Feeling refreshed, I make my way out of my room and down the stairs. When I reach the landing, I can hear Edward's voice coming from the kitchen. I momentarily assume he's on the phone again . . . until I hear a melodious female laugh.

While earlier I was mostly curious to see the woman, I'm feeling kind of bummed out now.

The closer I get to the kitchen, the more I can hear of their conversation. They seem to have a really close relationship, and I start to feel like I might be intruding if I go in there and interrupt them. My stomach rudely insists I keep moving forward, though.

"No! Are you serious?" the woman says with a giggle.

As I round the corner, I catch sight of her on one of the island stools, looking at Edward as he stirs something on the stovetop. Even though I can only see a portion of her facial profile, I can tell I was exactly right about her being gorgeous. She's got creamy white and flawless skin, and her perfect blonde hair hangs loose down her back, grazing the waist of her jeans. Even though she's seated, I can tell she's got the perfect hourglass figure, further cementing my earlier theory of rock star sex.

Edward chuckles, not turning to look at her, and I continue to go unnoticed. "I swear on my life, Rose. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced. I really can't explain it; you'll just have to take my word for it."

She shakes her head, the ends of her soft-looking hair flowing from the movement. "Well, if that's the case, then good for you. You know I only want what's best for you."

That's when he turns to offer her a smile, but before he locks eyes with her, he finds me standing in the doorway. "Hey," he says, sounding surprised. "I didn't hear you come downstairs."

"I'm pretty stealthy," I quip playfully before realizing his girlfriend might misconstrue it for shameless flirting and think I'm a hussy.

Rosalie turns on her chair, and her blue eyes are crystal clear and shining with happiness. "Hi," she greets, hopping off the stool. "You must be Edward's new . . . tenant. Bella, right?"

I nod, my face warming a little. "I am. You're Rose?"

"Ah," she says, glancing back over her shoulder at Edward. "So, he's spoken of me."

"Highly," I reply, even though he's only ever just mentioned her; I figure it's probably best that she thinks he speaks of his perfect relationship whenever he can . . . actually, I wonder why he doesn't.

I try not to dwell on it and shake Rosalie's hand. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name."

"Same here."

I notice that Edward has gone back to busily stirring the delicious smelling meal he's preparing. "I actually didn't mean to interrupt the two of you; I just wanted to grab something to tide me over until dinner." I move toward the fridge and open it up, looking for some fruit or something.

I bend over and start pushing things aside in my search for food, suddenly hearing the clang of metal, followed by Edward's whispered curse. Glancing up, I see him looking down into the deep pot, his brow furrowed with frustration. With a sigh, he opens the drawer next to him and grabs a spaghetti fork, dunking it into the deep pot and fishing out a long sauce-covered spoon.

Rosalie laughs lightly, drawing my focus to her. I assume I've missed some silent communication between the two of them, but when I see her flipping through the pages of a magazine, still snickering, I realize she must have read a funny article or something. My stomach rumbles again, so I resume my search for food, opening the fruit drawer to find some strawberries. Being allergic, I decide I don't feel like getting a raging case of hives and close the fridge.

"There's . . . uh . . . some protein bars in the cupboard here," Edward offers, his voice sounding slightly rough as he opens the door next to his head. "Up on the middle shelf."

"Thanks," I say, standing on the tips of my toes and stretching for the slender box.

Another clang of metal is heard, but when I look to my left, I see that Edward still has hold of his spoon. His face looks a little flushed, though; maybe he's coming down with something.

"How was work?" Edward asks, his voice a little more steady now as I close the cupboard.

"Busy. I'm glad I didn't have to work the evening rush," I admit. "Anyway, I'll leave you guys to talk. I can imagine being away as much as Edward is you like to be together as much as possible."

Both of them turn to look at me, eyes wide like I was in the process of sprouting a second head. Feeling a little subconscious, my right hand flies to my neck, searching for evidence of such a thing. "What?" Immediately, I realize it's ridiculous and let my hand fall back to my side.

"Uh, nothing," Edward stammers; when he became so nervous, I'm not exactly sure. Though, it is a nice change of pace; I can't constantly be the one tripping over my own words.

Rosalie closes her magazine. "No need to go anywhere. We're not that desperate to be alone with each other," she jokes . . . or is she joking? It's kind of hard to tell.

"I've got homework," I tell them.

Smiling, Rose rolls her beautiful eyes. "Eddie here tells me you're, like, some kind of genius or something. Plus, it's Saturday night; don't you have a party or something to go to?"

I clear my throat. "I'm not really the party-going type," I admit.

"Well, how am I supposed to live vicariously through you, then?" Her mock-pout makes me laugh.

"Trust me; my life is nothing to be coveted."

Patting the stool next to her, Rosalie invites me over with a sideways nod of her head. "Come on, join us. Edward's kind of a bore."

"You're one to talk," Edward retorts.

Their relationship confuses me; shouldn't they be a little more snuggly and a little less like brother and sister? Or maybe Jake was just an insatiable animal when it came to alone time . . . which actually makes sense given his slutting it up with Leah.

I need to take my mind off of that, so I decide to learn a little more about the woman in Edward's life. "So," I begin, "how long have you and Edward known each other?"

Looking contemplative, Rose looks at Edward. "Gee, what's it been, Eddie? Six years?"

"I told you to stop calling me that." There's a slight rumble in his voice—like a low growl—and it makes my knees quiver. I quickly slam my legs together to make it stop before anyone, namely Rose, notices. "And yes, six years. Sometimes I wonder how we've survived all this time."

What an odd thing to say.

"Keep making wise-ass comments like that, and I'll be sure to remedy it," she teases.

Something's amiss here, and I'm not sure how to process everything going through my head. Is it possible that after so many years together, the romance fizzles and you become a pair of bantering old hens?

Of course, if that's true, explain my horn-dog parents. I know I sure don't want to.

"Okay, you know what?" Rosalie proclaims, slapping her hands on the counter and standing up. "As much fun as this little visit has been, I need to head home."

My eyes snap to hers. "Y-you're not staying?"

Rosalie winks at me. "And eat his cooking? I think I'll pass."

I let my gaze fall to my hands—and the uneaten protein bar—and I whisper, "I think his cooking's just fine."

With a delicate laugh, she places her hand on my bare bicep. "Of course you do, sweetie. Edward?" He looks back to acknowledge her. "Don't forget to finalize your itinerary. You don't want to get caught in a room with another single. Emmett won't stand for it."

_Emmett?_

"Shit, don't remind me. He wouldn't let up that whole trip. I thought for sure he was going to ride me hard because of it the entire weekend . . . erm . . ." Edward's eyes snap wide open, meeting my own bewildered expression. "That didn't come out right."

"Is that what Emmett said?" Rosalie asks in a coy voice.

My cheeks are burning hot, and I can only imagine how red my face is. I know I should probably go, but something is keeping me here. Morbid curiosity, most likely.

"Weren't you leaving?" I can tell by the playful edge in his voice that he's not angry.

"Thankfully, yes," she replies. "Remember. Itinerary. ASAP."

"Holy hell, Rose." Edward sounds kind of exasperated. "You keep bossing me around like that and people are going to think we're dating."

My entire body goes rigid, and my head jolts up. Looking between the two of them, my eyes wild with confusion, I let the final piece of this puzzle fall into place.

"You're _not_ dating?" I ask.

Both of them are quiet for a moment, acknowledging each other and then me before practically doubling over in amusement.

"N-no," Rosalie stammers between giggles. When she's finally got a handle on her laughter, she continues. "I'm his assistant. While Edward is a very sweet and caring individual, I'm not his type."

This seems odd to me, because to look at her, she's exactly the type of woman I can picture him with. In fact, I did up until thirty seconds ago.

Then it hits me . . .

_Not his type._

_Emmett. _

_Single bed. _

_Riding _hard_._

Holy crap.

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><p><strong>AN2: So, there you go. NOT THE GIRLFRIEND!**

**However, now we have another issue to attend to . . . What are your thoughts on it? Is Bella right? Or is this just another HUGE misunderstanding? I'm sure you all know by now based on the pairing of this story ;) I promise, this will resolve itself a little quicker :P**

**Buckle up for some hilarious twists and turns :)**

**Please review and let me know what you think!**

**Until next time, ladies!**

**xoxo**


	9. Overnight Company

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**You guys are seriously THE BEST. Honestly, after the way I ended the last chapter, I thought a majority of you would be like "Oh, this is too much. Enough is enough, already!" and flounce.**

**I should have known you guys would never abandon me like that, and I just want to promise you guys now that you won't regret staying on board ;) Or, at least I _hope_ you won't . . .**

****This chapter didn't take long to write, which is why you're getting ANOTHER early update (and no review replies-sorry! I loved EACH AND EVERY ONE! I just figured you'd enjoy the entire chapter more ;)). I'm hoping to do two a week as long as real life permits it . . . and as long as your awesome words and encouragement keep me inspired!****

**My betas are the bomb. They know this. It's why they do what it is they do.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9. Overnight Company<strong>

_No_, I tell myself. If I was able to jump to the wrong conclusions regarding Edward and Rosalie, then there is a very real possibility that I'm doing the same thing now.

Or . . . am I? He's polite, a good cook, his house is immaculate and well-decorated, and he dresses great. I suppose it wouldn't be too unbelievable.

Rosalie says goodbye, and I think I answer her, but I've got so many things rushing through my poor, overworked brain that I really can't be sure.

Did she say something about Edward booking a trip?

"Bella?"

Taking a breath, I raise my gaze from the countertop, my blurred vision clearing the minute we lock eyes. "Hmm?"

"You all right?" Turning the burner on the stovetop off, he crosses the kitchen and leans on the counter, facing me. "You seem . . . I don't quite know . . . off?"

I smile, deciding that I don't think I know him quite well enough yet to blatantly question his sexuality. Plus, I'm probably wrong. "I'm fine. I just thought you and Rosalie were an item. It kind of came as a shock."

Edward smiles widely. "No. I love her, don't get me wrong, but there's no way that would ever work out." Pushing himself up off the counter, he claps his hands together. "You hungry?" His eyes fall to my still-wrapped protein bar, and he laughs.

"Starved, actually," I confess.

Edward heads to the cupboard, grabs two plates, and dishes up whatever he was working on. When he sets them down on the island counter where I'm sitting, I notice he's made spaghetti.

He takes the seat next to me and hands me a fork while I look down at my dinner, inhaling deeply and letting the marinara sauce permeate my senses. "This looks amazing," I say, picking up my fork and twirling some of the pasta around the tines.

"Thank you." I can feel him watching me as I push my food around my plate for a minute. Then he nudges my arm with his elbow. "It's not just for looking at, you know," he teases.

Smiling, I glance over at him. "Sorry."

Edward's eyebrows pull together with what looks like concern, and he sets his fork down next to his plate. "Okay, what's wrong?"

I don't even think before I speak; the words just spill from my mouth. "You're leaving already." I can't help but sound sad about this. Even though I knew this about him before moving in, it sucks that we won't be spending any time together right off the bat.

"Only for a couple of days," he promises, turning his body to face me. There's something sweet and apologetic in the way he's looking at me. Sure, we've only known each other for a week—and I'm not even totally sure how to go about asking him about his availability since I've only just moved in—but I _think_ I see something deep in the pools of his green eyes. "There's this baseball player in Houston that the agency has had its eye on for a few months. He's young and could do well under the right representation."

I say nothing. Do nothing.

"Look," he continues softly, reaching out and grazing the skin on the outside of my knee before quickly drawing back as though the contact was out of line in some way. The fire of his touch still lingers, though, and I find myself wanting him to do it again. "I know you're still getting settled, and I honestly didn't think I'd be leaving this soon. I was hoping this trip would wait another couple weeks, but if we don't get him now, someone else will."

"I understand." I don't, really—he may as well be speaking another language—but it's his job, and I know he has to do it to pay the bills. "Maybe I can invite Alice over?"

"I told you that you don't have to ask, Bella," Edward reminds me with a grin. "This is your home now too. Invite whomever you want."

Nodding, I turn back to my dinner. "When do you leave?"

"Tuesday," he replies, returning to his own plate. "Come on, let's eat before our dinner gets c—"

Edward doesn't get a chance to finish when we hear the front door open, and a deep male voice calls out. "Honey, I'm here!"

I wonder if I should be reading into that statement. Do I say something? Leave it alone? Something tells me to leave it alone—that it'll work itself out, or I'll at least be given the right opening to inquire further. I know if I assume anything out loud, I'll just make a fool out of myself. No, it's definitely best to stay quiet.

I think.

Our company's footsteps are getting louder as he approaches the kitchen. Was this the guy Rosalie mentioned earlier? Emmett?

"There you are!" he booms, entering the kitchen. "I thought I smelled your spag—"

I turn just in time to see him stop dead in his tracks, cutting himself off as well. He's huge—like a bear. While his size should probably intimidate me, his baby blue eyes are warm and friendly, and when he smiles, he's got the deepest dimples that give him an almost childlike innocence.

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were entertaining." He looks at Edward, then at me, and smiles. "I'm Emmett. Edward's partner."

Partner. Interesting word choice, but does it mean what I secretly don't want it to mean?

"Hi," I greet, standing up and meeting him halfway to offer him my hand. "I'm Bella."

"Bella's my new tenant," Edward clarifies. "The one I told you about."

Realization flashes in Emmett's baby blues. "Of course. It's nice to meet you." He takes my hand in his, shaking it before standing next to Edward. "What do you think of my boy's pad?"

My eyebrow arches questioningly. _His _boy? I try to think of another meaning behind his declaration. They could be best friends. Sure.

Emmett reaches around and rests a hand on Edward's shoulder, sort of half-embracing him.

_Or not_ . . . _?_

"The house is great," I reply, deciding to stop worrying about something that really isn't my business or within my ability to control.

"You're early," Edward says to Emmett. "You hungry?"

"Does an ostrich fly?" He's got his hand resting on his stomach, giving the impression that maybe he is. Of course, this makes his statement confusing.

Both Edward and I look at Emmett, but it's me that says something. "Um, no, actually they don't."

Emmett looks genuinely surprised. "Really? Are you sure?"

I don't mean to laugh at him, but the poor guy really has no idea. "Yup. Pretty sure."

He walks over to the cupboard that holds the dishes and grabs a plate. "Guess I need to think of another rhetorical question, huh?"

Scooping a generous amount of pasta on his plate, Emmett asks if Edward had gotten the chance to book the hotel. I decide to eat my own meal, not wanting to intrude.

"Not yet." Emmett shoots a disapproving look over his shoulder, and Edward laughs. "I know, I know. I liked the idea of sharing that single bed as much as you did."

_That doesn't mean anything,_ I try to tell myself. He didn't say they _did_ share it.

"So, do you guys travel together a lot?" I ask, fishing for more information without bluntly asking and appearing rude. Truthfully, I've never been particularly good at fishing for anything, but I am going to give it a shot. I refuse to let this go on as long as the Rosalie thing did.

Emmett leans against the counter in front of the sink and begins to eat, nodding. "Yeah. Whenever we can. It really just depends on just how badly we need each other."

I nod as though I understand, but the truth of the matter is, I'm still uncertain; he could mean a lot of things. "I see. Have you guys been . . . _together_ long?"

"About four years," Edward replies without skipping a beat. "It was actually Rosalie that introduced us. We quickly became friends and then just couldn't deny how great we would be together."

"Mmmhmm," I'm still a little skeptical; sure, it's dwindling—just not in the way I've been hoping.

Emmett finishes his dinner first, even though he started after us and had more than double our amount, and puts his plate in the dishwasher. "Well, I'll leave the two of you to finish up. Edward, I'll meet you upstairs?"

Upstairs . . . where the bedrooms are. _There's a study too,_ I quickly remind myself._ And the mystery room._

"Okay," Edward says, finishing his dinner and heading to the sink. "I'll be right up after I clean the kitchen."

I take the last bite of my pasta and join him. "Don't be silly. Go. I'll clean up," I offer with a smile.

"Yeah?" He's got a silly grin on his face, and it's pretty infectious.

"Yes. Go . . . do whatever it is that you boys do." I'm honestly trying not to think too much about it because I still don't really have a definitive answer. "I'll be hitting the books right away anyway."

Edward gives my upper arm a light squeeze. "Thanks. We'll try to keep it down."

Oh, so they're noisy. My imagination starts to get away from me, but I seem to be enjoying where it's headed. Who'd have thought?

After finishing the dishes, I wipe the counters off and head upstairs with a freshly-brewed cup of coffee. As I reach the top of the stairs, I can hear their voices.

From behind the closed door to my right. Yes, the mystery room.

Curious—as always—I step closer, being sure to balance on the tips of my toes and move softly over the glossy hardwood floor.

"_What the hell are you doing?" _I hear Edward demand.

Emmett laughs. _"What? I thought you'd like that . . . No?"_

"_Hell no!"_

I search the door for a keyhole or something to peep through. I am deeply aware at just how very wrong this is, but I can't seem to help myself. There's nothing. Is it really too much to ask for a foundation shift right now?

"_Well, what about when I do this?"_

My eyes widen as I imagine what "this" could possibly be. I can't even fathom it. Flashes of them caught in some kind of torrid embrace flood my mind, and tendrils of warmth spread across my skin, caressing me until my fingers and my toes tingle.

Definitely not the effect I expected from such a thought, but a welcome one, nonetheless.

"_Um, it's a little better. Still doesn't amaze me, though."_

Wow, Edward's tough to please. However, whatever doubt I had regarding Edward being gay has officially flown the coop.

And yet, I'm still practically pressed against the door eavesdropping shamelessly.

"_You know," _Emmett says, sounding exasperated, "_you were a lot more fun last week when we did this."_

Edward laughs loudly. _"Yeah, well, last week we didn't have to worry about disturbing anyone else with our shenanigans."_

I instantly step away from the door, finally coming to my senses enough to know I really shouldn't be so invasive. However, in my haste to retreat, backwards, toward my room, I bump into the little table against the wall, sending a candle toppling over and onto the floor with a very loud—and echoey—_thud!_

Silence fills the hall. Edward and Emmett have stopped doing whatever it was they were doing; I've stopped breathing and am just waiting to be found out. Before that can happen, I snatch the candle up off the floor and put it back on the table. I can't be sure it's even in the right spot as I've dashed from the scene—as quickly as I can with a cup of coffee—just as the door behind me opens.

"Bella?" Edward calls out into the hall, but I've already disappeared from sight.

Taking a deep breath, I put a smile on my face and hang my head out into the hall. "Yeah?"

"Did you . . . ?"

I reach out and run my fingers through my hair, stepping out into the hall. "Oh," I say. "Sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking—the hazards of reading a text while walking—and bumped into the table there." I can't lie, so I figure an omission of my eavesdropping is probably best. "Sorry if I disturbed you."

Edward chuckles, stepping out into the hall. I notice he's shed the button-up shirt he was wearing and is now in a thinner cotton tee. His hair might be a little more mussed than before, but I don't get the chance to properly survey the area before he runs his beautiful long fingers through it. "Trust me," he says in a teasing tone. "You can't be any more disturbing than Emmett. Do you have any idea what he was doing?"

I open my mouth to put a few guesses out there, but then think better of it. "I can only imagine," I reply sweetly.

_And imagine, I did._

"Well, I should hit the books," I tell him, pointing toward my room with my thumb.

"Oh, okay. You'll let me know if you need anything?" I nod. "Remember to make yourself at home. Help yourself to whatever it is you want."

"Thank you," I tell him. "I will."

Edward and I go our separate ways, but before I close my door, I hear him exclaim, "Did you keep going without me?"

I have to stifle a laugh as I close my door, imagining . . . well, Emmett "carrying on" without his partner.

With what I suspect is going on down the hall, it's hard for me to focus on my studies, and I think I've re-read the same paragraph at least ten times. My eyes are burning, and my eyelids feel extremely heavy. I close them for a minute, just to rest them and gather a reserve of energy, but when I open them again my cheek is pressed to the pages of my text and it's pitch black outside. One quick glance at my alarm clock tells me it's four in the morning.

"Awesome," I grumble, pushing myself off my bed. I reach for my mug of coffee—which is still full and now cold—and head downstairs. I'm sure to tip-toe past Edward's closed bedroom door, wondering what time Emmett left before he turned in.

As I step into the kitchen, I'm surprised to see the refrigerator light on and Edward's lower half. "Oh!" I exclaim, making him stand up.

Only, it's not Edward. And he's not wearing a shirt.

I immediately look away. "Sorry, I didn't think anyone was up," I tell Emmett. "I fell asleep studying and came down to dump my cold coffee and grab a glass of water."

Emmett laughs quietly, bringing a glass of orange juice to his lips. "No worries, Bella. Can I get you anything?"

He's sweet, just like Edward. Exactly the type of person he should be with.

"Thanks. Um, where are the glasses?"

"Cupboard to the left of the sink," Emmett says, stepping off to the side.

I grab a glass and fill it with tap water. With my back turned, I sip my water and stare out the window at the night sky that overlooks the desert. I want to talk to Emmett, not necessarily about his relationship, but just to get to know him. I mean, he's got to be a pretty big part of Edward's life; it probably isn't a bad idea to become friends.

"So, how do you feel about Edward leaving on this trip?" Emmett asks before I get a chance to speak.

I turn around and see him sitting at the counter, both of his large hands wrapped around the slender glass before him. "Um, fine. I knew this was a part of his job, and partly why he's renting the room for such a low rate. He needed someone to watch the house while he's away."

Emmett smiles, his dimples deepening, and stares down into his glass. "Right," he says with a low chuckle. "I almost forgot about that." There's something behind his tone that I feel I should question, but don't. "He's worried you won't feel safe," he confesses. "I'm just making sure you're okay with staying here. If not, I'd be happy to make other arrangements."

Smiling genuinely at his concern, I walk around the island and sit next to him. "It's a big house," I say. "But I have a couple of friends I could invite over."

"Guys?" Why does it sound like he's fishing for my relationship status?

I shake my head. "No. Boys are so _not_ on my radar at the moment."

Emmett quirks an eyebrow. "Oh? None at all?"

I laugh. "No." My cheeks warm at my half-truth, and I drop my eyes from his. "Well, there was one, but he's not exactly available," I explain quietly.

"His loss," Emmett says, bumping my shoulder lightly with his fist.

I look back up at him, shrugging one shoulder. "Nah. He's with someone pretty great from what I can tell," I tell him honestly, not wanting to divulge that my crush is on Edward.

"How is it you haven't been snatched up yet?" Emmett asks, leaning in. "You're adorable."

I can feel myself blushing, and I'm thankful it's dark in the kitchen so he can't see it as I drop my gaze and giggle. "Um, thanks?"

"So, you're sure you're going to be okay here alone for a few days? If not—"

"Thanks," I say, interrupting him. "I'll be fine. Even if none of my friends can stay here, I can protect myself."

This seems to intrigue Emmett. "Oh?"

"I've taken more self-defense classes than you can imagine, and I'm kind of a crack shot," I brag.

Emmett's head begins to bob up and down, his smile widening even more. "Badass."

I'm just about to thank him for his concern when a gravelly voice comes from behind me. "Hey. What's going on down here?"

I turn around to see a sleepy-eyed Edward scratching the back of his head as he eyes us, confused. The silver moonlight washes over him, making him look even more perfect in an almost unnatural way.

"Oh," I say, hopping up off my chair. "I fell asleep and was just bringing my cold coffee down and grabbing a glass of water when I ran into Emmett here. And we got to talking."

Edward's eyes go wide, almost like he's worried about something. Then they travel to Emmett, and he rolls them. "Jesus, Em. Put a shirt on; there's a lady living here now."

I laugh. "That's okay. I'm actually going to head back up to bed. I'll see you guys in a few more hours."

"Actually," Emmett speaks up, pushing his stool away from the counter and standing. "I'm going to head home. I didn't mean to fall asleep here as it was."

"O-oh?" I stammer, stopping in the doorway and looking between him and Edward.

"Yeah, Edward and I were just so into fucking around"—I swallow thickly, trying to keep my expression neutral—"that we lost track of time and just passed out upstairs."

"Gotcha." I nod. "Well, I'll see you soon then?"

"Probably more than you'd like," Edward teases.

Emmett smirks. "Watch it," he threatens playfully. "I won't hesitate to drop you."

"All right," I interject, faking a yawn. "I'm going to go back to bed before I'm asked to ref a wrestling match." Of course, the thought brings with it that familiar blooming warmth across my lower abdomen, spiraling outward until it engulfs my arms and legs.

"Have a good sleep, Bella," Edward says softly, offering me a brief glimpse of his crooked smirk.

"Thanks. You, too."

The minute I leave the kitchen, I hear Edward quietly inquire about what we were talking about.

Emmett laughs quietly before telling him that he was only asking how I felt about staying here alone and that he offered to help me out if I needed it. "Did you know she can shoot?" Emmett asks jovially, bringing a smile to my face.

"I . . . no. But it doesn't surprise me; her dad's a cop."

On that note, I continue up to bed in case they want a minute alone to say goodnight to one another. The minute my head hits the pillow, I'm out like a light.

**::: RwaV :::**

I break down the last box and toss it onto my bed, having just put the last of my things away. Now that I am unpacked, I can now officially call this my home.

After leaving Edward and Emmett in the kitchen this morning, I hadn't gotten more than another three hours of sleep. Like the day before, the sun woke me up, shining through the windows on my balcony doors, and I stepped outside to see Edward enjoying his morning swim.

Deciding to start my own morning routine, I had leaned against the railing and watched him. Of course, I realize how silly I am to ogle someone as obviously unavailable as Edward, but I still find enjoyment in it.

Not wanting to be caught watching him cut gracefully through the water, I had retreated back into my room and decided to use my morning burst of energy on unpacking.

Now that everything is put away, I decide it's time to change out of my revealing pajamas and do a load of laundry. I pull on my shorts from yesterday, having just heard on the radio that we're in store for a record-breaking heat wave, and a fresh tank top.

Laundry-wise, I don't have much, but I've got enough for a small load of colours and an even smaller load of whites. I grab my basket and head down to the basement where I remember Edward telling me the laundry room is.

When I step off the very last stair, I look around at the finished basement. There's a huge living room area with a projection screen attached to the far wall. Instead of normal living room furniture, it looks like Edward invested in something that resembles theatre seating, complete with cup holders in the armrests. There's even a bar area with a full-sized fridge behind it.

Just when I didn't think this house could get more amazing, I am proven wrong. I'll definitely need to show my dad around when I have my parents over; I guarantee he'll want to watch some kind of sporting event down here.

I find the laundry room down the hall from the theatre room and turn on the machine while I separate my laundry, throwing my whites in first.

While my laundry cycles, I decide to go and make breakfast. Before I do, though, I head outside to see Edward still swimming. I walk barefoot to the edge of the pool and dip my toes in as Edward swims by obliviously.

Playfully, I kick out, forcing huge droplets of water to rain down on Edward's partially exposed back. He stops suddenly in the middle of the pool, looking around until he sees me.

With a bright, toothy smile, he pushes his hair off his forehead. "Hey. You been up long?"

I shake my head and sit down so I can stick my lower legs in the water. "Not really. I actually just finished unpacking and throwing a load of laundry in . . ." I suddenly realize that I probably should have asked about using the washing machine. "Oh crap. I'm sorry. You didn't need it, did you? I should have asked."

The lower half of Edward's face disappears beneath the surface of the water and he swims toward me. Once he's next to me, he rests his arms on the cement pool deck and looks up at me. "It's fine. I'll do laundry this afternoon. This is all new to me too; we'll figure out a schedule that works for the both of us."

He's so close to me that there's not much water between his ribs and my calf. In fact, if I moved a fraction of an inch, my toes would probably graze the hem of his trunks . . .

I clear my throat, trying to refocus my attention on what I originally came out here to do. "I was actually going to make breakfast. Have you eaten already?" I ask.

"Nope. Breakfast sounds great. I'll finish up my lengths, and I'll meet you inside in fifteen?"

Smiling, I pull my legs from the water, accidentally grazing the side of his thigh with my foot. His lips twitch before forming a smile, and he quickly pushes himself away from the edge of the pool. Away from me. I don't take it personally; I shouldn't have done what I did. I blame it my apparent lack of self-control today.

"Cool. I'll see you inside."

The sun is already hot for this time of day, and my legs are practically dry by the time I reach the patio door. I step inside and head to the fridge in search of something to make.

It's kind of amazing to me that Edward's fridge is fully stocked. Not that I've snooped through many guys' cupboards, but I've heard they usually only carry the bare minimum. Not Edward, though. No, he's got pretty much everything one might need.

I decide on French toast for breakfast, so I grab everything I'll need and begin my preparation. It doesn't take me long to locate the frying pans—naturally, he keeps them in the cupboard right next to the oven—and I begin frying up the egg and cinnamon-covered slices of bread.

I'm just putting the last of six slices on when I hear the patio door slide open and Edward's bare feet pad across the slick tile. He's right behind me—I can feel the waves of heat rolling off of his bare chest and across my back and shoulders. I take a shaky breath at the same time he inhales.

"Do you know how long it's been since I had French toast?" he asks, his breath tickling my exposed neck and ear.

I open my mouth to speak, but I can't; my voice is completely gone. It would appear that having him so close to me has forced me into a temporary state of muteness. So, instead of speaking, I shake my head, tightening my hold on the spatula to keep the tremble in my hands from being too noticeable.

He takes a few steps back, and I exhale through my lips quietly, not wanting him to know what the hell just happened. "I'm going to go have a quick shower," he announces. "I'll be right down."

"Y-yeah," I reply, my voice having come back. "I'll see you in a few."

The minute he's out of sight, I drop the spatula onto the counter, bits of cinnamon-infused egg scattering across the dark marble surface. I run my fingers through my hair and look toward the empty doorway, wondering why the hell I can't seem to get my body to understand that he's unavailable in the _most extreme _way.

My brain gets it, but every time I'm around him, it's like I mentally check out, and my body just does whatever the hell it wants.

Okay, so maybe not, because if that happened, this counter would have my naked ass prints all the hell over it, and the smell of my French toast burning would be real and not in my imagination.

_Wait a minute . . . _

"Shit!" I shout, reaching out and turning the burner off before sliding the pan to an empty burner. I grab the spatula to remove the slice of bread from the pan, but it doesn't come easily; I actually have to scrape it off.

The smoke and smell of burned toast and egg is heavy in the air, so I open the kitchen window and turn on the fan above the stove. It doesn't seem to help as quickly as I'd like, so I slide the patio door open wide and begin to fan the air with the dishtowel that Edward keeps on the oven handle.

The smoke looks to be clearing finally, and I can't smell the after effects of my cooking snafu anymore. Instead of trying again, I decide that I'll make a fruit salad to go with breakfast.

"What happened in here?" Edward asks, his eyes instantly finding mine and rushing toward me. "It smells like you burned something. Are you okay?"

I grimace. "Damn," I groan. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Are _you_ okay?" he asks again, looking over my face.

"Oh, yeah," I assure him. "I wasn't paying attention to the French toast, and the heat must have been too high. I burned it. That's all. No fires, I swear." He looks from me to the plated pieces of toast, still concerned. "The other five slices are fine. I promise." I laugh lightly. "I really am a decent cook, so don't hold this against me, okay?"

Letting his lips twist up into the smile I've come to look forward to, he cups my upper arm reassuringly. "I wouldn't dream of it." He releases me and grabs two glasses from the cupboard before offering me orange juice.

"Sounds great. Thanks."

I finish cutting up the fruit for our salads, leaving the beautiful, plump strawberries he has in the fruit drawer out of it, and we take what I've decided are our usual seats.

Edward eyes his fruit bowl and frowns. "No strawberries?"

I shrug. "Allergic. I can grab the basket for you if you'd like," I offer.

"Oh, I didn't know. Sorry."

I giggle. "Why are you sorry? Should I be aware that this is somehow all your fault?" He chuckles, spearing a piece of cantaloupe. "It's not too bad," I tell him. "I won't die if I eat them; I just break out in this really itchy rash that covers almost my entire body. It's really pretty unpleasant."

Edward smiles. "Good to know."

After breakfast, Edward offers to clean up since I took the liberty last night, and I take the opportunity to go and switch my laundry over. As I am pulling my clothes out of the washer and placing them in the dryer, it suddenly occurs to me that not _all _of my clothes are dryer friendly.

My bras and panties, for example.

I decide that Edward has absolutely no interest in my underwear anyway—that he'd probably be a little more flustered to see a pair of men's tightie whities—and I hang them on the little clothes rack he's got in the large laundry room.

Once my clothes are swapped, I head back upstairs to find Edward on the phone.

"Yes. Edward Cullen and Emmett McCarty . . . Mmm hmm . . . That's right." It's obvious that he's securing his and Emmett's hotel room for their trip this week. "Perfect. Thank you . . . You have a good day too."

He hangs up the phone and shrugs. "Hotel."

"Ah, yes. I figured." I take a seat at the island. "You get everything figured out?"

"Yes. Emmett will be more than pleased," Edward assures me with a laugh.

"Oh good, because I'd hate to see him upset," I say playfully.

Edward shrugs. "He's not a big grudge holder. He'd be over it within the first twelve hours." Pausing, Edward drinks the remainder of his juice and then puts the glass in the dishwasher. "So, I was thinking of watching a movie tonight. I know you have studying to do, but if you wanted to join me . . ."

I smile _really _wide. "You mean in that fantastic theatre room you have downstairs?"

He chuckles. "Sure. If you want. I was thinking in the living room, but the theatre works."

"Sweet!" I exclaim excitedly. "By the way, if you ever find yourself on my dad's bad side . . . just ask him to watch some kind of sporting event down there. He'll be your new best friend." I stand up and start to back out of the kitchen. "Okay, well I'm going to go and study for a bit if we're going to watch a movie later. Call me when my laundry's ready in the dryer?"

Edward agrees, and I head upstairs. I toss my books on the end of my bed and lay down on my stomach, pencil and highlighter in-hand and notebook open to where I left off last night.

I'm about an hour in when there's a knock on my door. "Come in." I turn my head to see Edward peer inside.

"The timer just went off," he informs me. "I can grab it and bring it up if you'd like? I'm headed down to put my whites in anyway."

"Oh, I have a load in the wash that needs to be switched over, anyway." I hop up off the bed and lead the way to the basement. Edward is right behind me, his own laundry basket in his arms.

I unload my whites from the dryer and then work quickly to unload my colours so he can wash his clothes. I've got two bras and their matching panties that need to be hung before I head back upstairs. When I turn around, Edward is looking down, seemingly stunned. It's when I follow his eyes that I see he's staring at my hands . . . at my underwear.

"Sorry," I apologize with a casual shrug, moving around him and hanging them before grabbing the few pairs of white ones and tossing them in the basket with my clean clothes. "Being a girl comes with some extra laundry."

He's facing the washer now, busily shoving his whites inside before turning the temperature back up and adding detergent. "Right. I suppose it does."

"Okay, well I'll be back up in my room. I'll come check on my last load in a bit," I tell him, heading back upstairs. He doesn't follow me right away—I assume because he's got something else to do down here. I swear I hear him curse when I reach the stairs, and I feel the need to turn around and see if he's hurt himself.

Just as I move to do so, he exits the laundry room, looking surprised to still see me. "Oh," he says roughly. "I thought you'd gone upstairs already."

"I was, but then I heard you say something . . . Are you okay?" I look him over, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Edward lets out a single breathy laugh. "Oh, uh, I closed the washer door on my thumb. I'll be fine."

My eyes fall to his hands, and he quickly hides one of his thumbs within a fist. "You're sure?"

"Yes. I'm going to go out for a quick run," he announces out of nowhere. "Give you some quiet to get your studying done. I'll have my phone if you need me."

Edward walks around me and dashes up the stairs. I follow, but not nearly as quickly. He goes up to his room, and when he reemerges, he's wearing a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt. "I'll be back in a bit."

Nodding, I step into my room. "Sure. Have fun." I feel like he's acting weird, but I don't know him well enough to call him on it.

After I hear the front door close, I fold my laundry before I go back to studying . . . or, _try_ to study. I'm actually finding it hard to tear my mind from Edward's behaviour. I'm not sure what it was, but there had definitely been something in his eyes before he announced his little run that is burned into my memory.

I check my alarm clock and see that almost an hour has passed. This means my laundry should be ready. Before heading down into the basement, I check out the front door to see if I can spot Edward anywhere. I can't. While I know he's probably fine, I'm still feeling a bit weird about his sudden departure.

I'm probably over-thinking it; I usually do.

When I reach the basement, I realize I forgot my hamper upstairs, so I decide to just fold my small load and carry them upstairs instead of risking the laundry trail that I'll inevitably leave in my wake if I carry a rumpled pile.

I fold my pajama bottoms, then a couple of tank tops. As I pull my socks out, I toss them into a pile, always leaving them for last because then they'll all be there and I won't be searching for them as I go. It's really a huge time-saver.

Or, so I used to think.

I've got all of my laundry folded and have almost finished matching my pile of socks . . . all but one.

With a sigh, I toss the lone red sock on the dryer and open it again, looking inside for the straggler. It's not there. I check the floor around me. Nothing. I think back to when I gathered my laundry this morning, and I specifically remember having both red socks in my hamper. They were right on top for crying out loud.

So where is it?

The washer next to me buzzes, and my eyes go wide. _Really _wide.

"Noooooooooo!" I cry out, reaching out and pulling the door open. What I find inside is a nightmare. There, on top of his freshly washed clothes is my missing red sock.

After removing it, I pull out one of Edward's t-shirts. _Pink._

A couple of his socks. _Pink and pink._

Another shirt. _Pink._

Then . . . a pair of boxer briefs. _Pink._

"Oh God," I groan, dropping my face into my hands. I'm so upset by this huge err on my part that I haven't even dropped his underpants.

"Bella?"

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><p><strong>AN2: UH-OH! **

**LMAO! What do you think is going to happen? Please review and let me know what you thought of this chapter.**

**Until next time, my lovelies!**

**xoxo**


	10. Liquid Courage

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**Now, before we proceed, Bella's going to agree to something that a lot of you aren't going to be completely on board with. DON'T STOP reading! I promise you it doesn't last the chapter, and actually helps her realize a few things ;)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 10. Liquid Courage<strong>

Frightened, I shriek, dropping his boxers back into the washer and slamming the lid back in place. "Jesus! You scared me."

He chuckles, pushing his sweat-dampened hair back off his forehead. He looks a lot more relaxed than when he left, and for a very brief moment, I'm glad.

Then I remember his new pink laundry.

"Nope, not Jesus. Just me . . ." He places his hand flat on his chest. "Edward." I laugh, but it's forced, and he can tell. "I, uh, just came to check my laundry." He peers around me, one of his eyebrows arched high. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," I answer a little too quickly, even going as far as to hop up _onto_ the washer to keep him from getting to it. Yes, I realize how stupid that is.

"I'm going to need to get in there."

I shake my head vehemently. "No you don't."

"Bella?" He's advancing slowly toward me, and I begin to panic, my heart racing.

I give him my best puppy dog eyes; my parents used to fall for it all the time when I was younger, so I feel confident it'll work now. "Please, don't."

He smiles, his green eyes sparkling with nothing but mischief as he takes another step toward me. I'm still shaking my head, making myself somewhat dizzy, as he continues forward. I push myself back farther onto the washer, trying to make my body heavy and hanging onto the sides as he reaches out for me.

"Nonononono," I keep repeating over and over again. Of course, the minute the tips of his fingers touch the exposed sliver of skin between my tank top and shorts, I think about changing it to _yesyesyesyesyes!_

I'm no match for his football-player strength; he moves me with ease, even against my struggles to remain between him and the massacre beneath me. He sets me on the top of the dryer, my face in my hands but peeking at him through my fingers.

"You weren't trying to poach my laundry, were you?" he teases before opening the lid and seeing the problem. "Oh."

My hands fall from my eyes to cover my mouth as he slowly pulls out pink piece after pink piece of clothing. "I'm _so_ sorry," I say, my voice muffled by my fingers. "I guess I was in such a rush to get my stuff out of there so you could use it that I missed a sock." He remains silent, and this scares me. "A-are you mad?"

He drops his hands immediately, his shirt collar still held tightly between his fingers, and looks at me. The minute his lips turn up into a smile, I let my hands fall to my lap, feeling slightly relieved. But only slightly. "They're just clothes, Bella."

"Yeah," I agree. "But they're _pink_."

"True. But no one needs to know that."

I drop my eyes to my fidgeting fingers. "Yeah, but I'll know."

Edward snickers. "You planning to start thinking about what colour my underwear might be?" I inhale sharply, and he's quick to correct himself. "Sorry. That was . . . out of line."

"Uh, no, it's fine." Truthfully, if what he said was out of line, everything I've thought about him since the day we met has been so far over the line that I can't even see it anymore.

And I am most definitely wondering about the colour of the underwear he's wearing right at this moment.

Edward starts pulling his clothes out of the washer, and I pull my legs up and crisscross them in front of me so he can load them into the dryer. He looks amused as he removes each piece of pink clothing. Some things are worse-off than others, being completely pink in colour, while others look somewhat tie-dyed.

"Come on," Edward says after turning the dryer on. He looks up to me with a playful smirk and winks, offering me his hand. "I think you've had enough fun in the laundry room."

Rolling my eyes, I place my hand in his and let him help me down. "I don't think you know the meaning of that word," I tell him pointedly. "No part of this was fun. I'm a wreck."

While the initial shock of destroying his clothes was almost petrifying, I have to admit that it's kind of funny to think that Edward has more pink clothing than Alice now. I start to laugh, and he looks stunned.

He lets go of my hand now that I'm firmly on my feet and crosses his arms across his chest. "I thought you said this wasn't fun." He's having trouble keeping the smile from his face; I can see it in his eyes.

"It wasn't," I assure him through fits of giggles. "But it is kind of _funny_ . . . Now."

"Oh, you think so?" There's a note of challenge in his voice, and when he narrows his eyes, my laughter dies instantly.

He takes a stalking step toward me, and I swallow thickly, taking one backward. I raise my arm and hold up a single finger. "Doooon't," I instruct, sounding like I'm scolding a puppy. I try to stifle a laugh at my own comparison, and then add, "Bad, Edward."

And then he lunges.

"No!" I shriek, dodging him and running for the stairs—laughing the entire time. I've just grabbed onto the banister, and am about to launch myself up them, when his long fingers ensnare my hips. He pulls me backwards, turning me and slinging me over one of his shoulders. I'm too busy struggling and laughing to really focus on the fact that his hands are so high up on my thigh they're grazing the frayed hemline of my shorts.

Well, I wasn't focused on it until _now._

I continue to squirm in his grasp, but not too much because I'm quite enjoying the view of his ass in his running shorts. It never really occurs to me—not until I hear the patio door open, anyway—exactly what his plan is.

Flattening my hands on his firm lower back, I lift myself slightly and crane my upper body to confirm my suspicions. "Edward, what are you doing?" It's a stupid question, because I know the minute we step out onto the patio that I am about to get thrown in the pool. We walk out from under the shade of the eave, and the heat beats down on me. It really is hotter than it should be this time of year, and I'm silently welcoming the cool water.

Of course, I don't expect to go down alone.

"I'm warning you," I tell him, curling my fingers into the thin material of his shirt and shifting my weight on his shoulder slightly as we reach the edge of the pool.

"And _I_ am terrified, Miss Swan." Sarcasm drips from every word. His hands slip from my upper thighs, forcing an uprising of goosebumps across my skin, and he grabs just above my knees in preparation of tossing me in the water.

The minute I feel him move to throw me in, I adjust my upper body, wrapping my arms around his other shoulder. I can feel it offset his balance already, and he tries to right himself, but I take the opportunity to swing one of my legs around his waist, sending us both into the pool.

We break the surface with a loud splash, both of us surfacing at the same time, laughing and wiping the water from our eyes. His sparkling green eyes are bright with amusement.

"You're trouble," he declares, pushing his hair back and off of his forehead.

I shrug before swimming toward the edge of the pool. "I tried to warn you," I remind him.

The water feels amazing as I move through it, passing by Edward. I know that once I get out, I'll wish I was just back in, so I stop swimming and let my body roll over until I'm floating on my back and looking up at the clear blue sky. To my right, I hear a splash, and when I turn my head, I see Edward has hopped out of the pool and is headed for the house. It doesn't escape my notice that his shorts are riding a little low and showing off the very top of his muscular backside between them and his shirt.

"Where are you going?" I call out after him.

"To answer the phone and grab a couple of towels. I'll be right back."

I shift my body upright and begin to tread water, watching through the window as Edward picks up the cordless phone and puts it to his ear. I can't hear what he's saying, but he looks out at me and then disappears from sight. He's not gone for long, though, stepping out onto the patio and holding out the phone.

"It's your mom," he announces, walking toward the pool as I make my way to the ladder.

My white tank is clinging to my skin as I climb up onto the deck, shaking the excess water from my hands before reaching for the phone. Edward stops dead in his tracks, clenching and averting his eyes quickly as he hands me the phone. He's acting strange again, and I can't figure out why.

"I'm, uh . . ." His voice is raspy, so he stops talking to clear his throat. "I'll go grab you a towel."

Unable to figure him out as he quickly runs back to the house, I put the phone to my ear. "Hey, Mom. What's up?"

"Hey, sweetie. I'm just calling to see how everything is going," she replies.

I laugh. "Pretty good. I kind of ruined Edward's laundry, though."

"Well that can't be good!" Mom exclaims with a snicker. "What happened?"

I cringe again just thinking about it. "Red sock. White clothes."

Through her laughter, she says, "Oh, dear. Was he upset?"

"Enough to throw me in the pool," I tell her, shaking my head.

She stops laughing, and her voice takes on a more serious note. "Oh, really?" I don't have to focus hard to get the underlying insinuations in her tone.

"Mom, stop," I command lightly. "You're insane if you think anything will _ever _happen there. Believe me when I say that there is nothing I can do to make him find me even remotely attractive."

"Who?"

I jump when I hear Edward's voice behind me and almost drop the phone. "Uuuh, Mom, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure, call me!"

I hang up the phone and set it on one of the lounge chairs before looking up at Edward. "Sorry, she's a talker."

Edward is regarding me curiously. How much could he have possibly overheard? Have I made things awkward between us by outing the crush I have on my landlord? My landlord who is in a relationship . . . with another man.

Suddenly, a cool breeze picks up, ripping right through my soaking wet tank top, and I shiver. Goosebumps cover my entire body, and in a flash, Edward is thrusting one of the two towels he's holding toward me and using the other to cover his head and dry his dripping wet hair.

This behaviour of his can't be normal for him, and I'm right back to wondering what the hell is going on. Instead of wondering, I decide to just ask. "Hey," I say, dropping the towel onto the chair and reaching out for him. "Are you okay? You've been acting kind of funny."

He removes the towel from his head and looks at me. I almost think I'm seeing things when his eyes move south and then quickly find mine again. Then I remember I'm in a white tank top . . . a _wet _white tank top . . . and I'm not wearing a bra . . . and my nipples are . . .

"Oh god!" I exclaim, reaching for my towel and holding it to my boobs. "I'm so sorry! I didn't even think when I got dressed this morning!" The heat in my face can only mean that I'm the deepest shade of red I've ever been in my life. "I can't even imagine what must be going through your head."

"I think it's safest if you don't even try," he says with a nervous chuckle. "I, uh, have to run into the office to do a few last minute things before my trip. I'll grab a pizza on the way home in time for our movie?"

I still can't even look at him. In the course of a day, this poor man has been subjected to my lacy underthings and now my may-as-well-have-been-naked boobs. Clearly, these are the last things in the world he wants to see.

"Sounds good. I have a bit more studying to do, anyway." He's just turning to head back inside when I stand up and say, "Hey. We're cool, right? I know I've royally messed things up today, but I don't want things to be . . . weird between us."

"It's fine, Bella. I think this will just take some getting used to." He offers me a smile, but it's not his usual crooked one that makes his eyes shine; this one seems reserved—maybe even slightly forced. "I'm going to go change and head to the office. I'll be back soon."

"Yeah," I say softly once he disappears into the house. "Soon."

Back in my room—after stripping out of my soaking wet clothes and having a quick shower—I'm dressed comfortably in a looser-fitting t-shirt (with a bra this time) and another pair of shorts. These ones aren't nearly as scandalous, having decided that Edward has seen enough of the female body to last him an entire lifetime.

I'm lying on my bed, studying and constantly checking the time. Edward's been gone for a few hours now, and it's almost five. Sighing, I push myself off the bed to go find a snack when the front door opens.

I launch myself through my bedroom door, dash down the hall, and look down over the banister to see Edward coming in with a pizza box in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

_Wait . . ._

His eyes find me in an instant and he smiles _my _smile. "Hi." There's no more awkwardness in his voice, no more hesitation. He seems to have put every single one of my blunders behind him. "Sorry I'm late. Rose had a stack of paperwork on my desk that had to be signed before I leave." He holds up the pizza. "I brought dinner."

I bounce down the stairs to take it from him, beyond elated that he seems to have returned to his old self. "It smells great. What kind did you get?"

"Hawaiian," he replies, shocking me.

I freeze, looking at him inquisitively. "That's . . . my favourite."

He laughs, moving around me to lead the way to the kitchen. "I know. I called your mother."

"Y-you did?"

In the kitchen, he sets the wine bottle on the counter. "Yeah, after how I behaved this afternoon, I wanted to make it up to you." He shrugs, looking so innocent as he searches for the corkscrew in the drawer. "I wanted to surprise you, so I gave her a call."

"I see."

There's a loud _pop!_ as Edward uncorks the bottle before grabbing two wine glasses from the top shelf of the glassware cupboard. "Wine?" he inquires.

I look at him, arching an eyebrow. "Uh, you know I'm only twenty, right? For another whole year."

"I do." He begins to pour one glass, and then pauses to look at me. "Are you telling me you've never had a drink before?"

With a wide smile, I shake my head. "No. I am in college, after all. I was merely pointing it out in case this was some kind of test that you and my father set up since you guys are such close buddies now."

This makes Edward chuckle, and I realize just how much better I feel knowing that what happened this afternoon likely won't damage the friendship I hope we can have. "Is he really that strict?"

"He's a cop," I remind him. "So, yeah. I mean, I've had wine at Christmas or Thanksgiving, but only ever one glass."

"Well," Edward says, "I'm not going to push, but feel free to join me."

I think about this for a moment; it's not like I indulge in wine on a regular basis, and I would like to unwind a little after everything that's happened today. "Sure," I finally say. "I'll have a glass."

Edward smiles and fills the second glass before handing it to me. I take it from him and take a small sip. It's delicious and sweet, not tart like some red wines tend to be. "So, is Emmett coming over tonight?"

His brow furrows slightly before softening again. "Um, no. I probably won't see him until the trip."

"Really? That's too bad."

He nods once, still seeming confused about something. Thankfully, he soon snaps out of it and meets my gaze, smiling. "What do you say we grab a couple slices of pizza and go pick out a movie?" he suggests.

Excited to chill out in front of the TV after a day of studying and craziness, I grab the plates from the cupboard and hand one to Edward so we can dish up our dinner. I grab two slices of pizza and my glass of wine and start toward the basement.

Edward is right behind me as we descend the stairs, and I smile when I reach the bottom, remembering how he had thrown me over his shoulder playfully. If it hadn't been for hearing him and Emmett the night before, I might have thought that maybe Edward was flirting.

"What do you feel like watching?" Edward asks as I take a seat in the centre of the couch.

I put my drink in one of the cup holders and bring my legs up, crisscrossing them in front of me as Edward sets his wine and plate down next to me. "I don't know. What are my options?"

He heads over to the shelf where all of his movies are and starts listing off the titles in his collection. There's a little bit of everything to choose from; action, comedy, drama.

"Ummm . . ." It's tough to decide because he's got some I've never seen as well as a few of my old favourites.

Being intuitive to my dilemma, Edward offers me a smile. "It's your call. I'm okay with whatever you choose."

Trying to figure out if he really is okay with whatever I pick, I quirk an eyebrow at him. "Yeah?" He nods. "All right. Can we watch _The Princess Bride_?" I scrunch my nose, waiting for him to tell me he's changed his mind and is revoking my right to pick.

He doesn't, though.

Turning back to his movie shelf, he grabs the DVD and takes it to the DVD player. The screen in front of me lights up when Edward turns the projector on behind us, and I settle in excitedly.

Edward is chuckling when he takes his seat next to me, and I turn to look at him. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. You just seem so excited."

"Oh, I am," I assure him. "This is my favourite movie. Ever."

Smirking, he narrows his eyes at me. "Weren't you five when it came out?"

"Yes, but it wasn't until I was twelve that I saw it for the first time." Smiling fondly, I drop my eyes to my hands as I pick the pineapples from my pizza slices and eat them. "I was home sick with the flu, and it was on TV. My mom made me chicken soup—from scratch, none of that condensed crap—and we curled up on the couch under the blanket my Gran had knit for me that Christmas and watched it. And, ever since then, it's been my absolute favourite."

When I turn to look at him, I find that he's watching me pretty intently. It makes me blush, but I hold his gaze. "What a nice memory to have—well, except for the being sick part."

When the movie begins, Edward and I turn to the screen and watch raptly. Around a half hour into it, I begin to shiver, still only wearing my shorts and a t-shirt. Edward notices immediately and hops up off the couch and disappears down the hall, returning with a cozy-looking fleece blanket.

"Thanks," I say, looking up to see him smiling as he drapes it over me before he takes his seat again so we can resume our movie.

To say it was the best way to end a day that started out a little rough would be an understatement. I can only hope to keep from messing up anything else. While I know it's bound to happen, I want to remain as optimistic as possible that I'm through making an ass of myself.

**::: RwaV :::**

There's a light knock that rouses me from my sleep. With a groan, I lift my head and see that it's barely after seven in the morning.

"Come in," I call out in my hoarse morning voice, rolling off of my stomach and pushing myself up so I'm propped up on my elbows.

The door opens and in steps an always well-groomed Edward. His eyes widen when he finds me still in bed, his gaze travelling down to see the entire length of my naked leg is exposed before turning around and looking out my balcony door. He's clearly uncomfortable with it, so I tuck my leg back under my blanket and apologize.

"Don't worry about it," he says roughly. "I just wanted to let you know that my ride is here to take me to the airport. You're sure you're going to be okay for a few days? I can call Rose and see if she'll come check on you."

He's been like this since Saturday; overly concerned that I don't yet feel comfortable or safe enough to spend a couple of days alone. While I've really enjoyed hanging out with him and getting to know more about his job, I will admit that it's going to be a little weird to be alone in this big house.

Wanting to help alleviate the guilt I can see in his eyes, I nod. "Yes, Edward. I'll be fine. Alice is actually going to come over tonight."

"Oh, good. And you remember how to work the alarm system? I'd hate for your dad to come and hunt me down because I wasn't taking all of the proper precautions with his daughter."

I laugh, sitting up and hugging my blanket to my chest; the tank top I've got on isn't exactly the most modest. "Yes. I've got the code memorized. Now go, or you'll miss your flight."

He's looking at me like there's something more he wants to say, but instead, he just offers me a small smile and nods. "Okay. I'll see you Friday. Call if you have any problems, all right?"

"Will do. Tell Emmett I say hi."

His smile falls slightly, though not completely, and he looks toward the door. "Yeah. I'll be sure to do that."

Edward leaves me alone in my room, and I try to figure out what it was that made his mood sour so suddenly. As I think about it, I realize that it's every time I bring Emmett up. Were he and Emmett having problems? I wouldn't know because I hadn't seen Emmett since that early morning conversation in the kitchen.

Sure, I could ask, but I really don't feel right invading Edward's privacy. While I definitely feel like we're friends, I don't think we're close enough yet for me to be asking him about his relationship problems.

My alarm starts buzzing beside me, jarring me from my thoughts. When I turn and see that it's now seven-thirty, I shut it off and throw my blankets off of me so I can go and get ready for school. After a quick shower, I brush my hair and teeth before finding a pair of jeans and a fitted green t-shirt to wear. I make my bed quickly and head downstairs to make something quick for breakfast, only to be met by the smell of bacon and eggs the minute I hit the bottom step.

I smile as I make my way, thinking about how this is the second morning in a row that Edward has prepared breakfast for me before school. I walk into the kitchen to find a covered plate in my usual spot at the island. Next to it is a piece of paper. I pick up the paper and take it with me to the coffee pot, where an empty mug waits for me to fill it.

Grabbing the pot and filling my coffee cup, I read the note.

_Good morning, Bella._

_Sorry we didn't have the opportunity to have breakfast together this morning, but I still wanted to be sure you got off to a good start._

_Here is a short list of numbers should you not be able to get a hold of me at some point over the next few days. Rosalie is the closest to the house, but if she's unreachable for whatever reason, one of my parents should be able to help you out with whatever you might need._

I scan the numbers he's listed before moving onto the rest of the note.

_I'm also leaving you the keys to my car should you need it._

"What?" I ask aloud.

_It might be a tad presumptuous of me to assume this, but your truck sounds like it's on its last leg. Use it or don't, the choice is yours, but my car is here if you need it._

_Have fun, and don't forget to call. Even if it's just to talk._

_~Edward_

With my coffee ready, I head to my seat and set the note down, reading it over and over again and admiring Edward's perfect penmanship. I'm still in shock that Edward has offered to let me use his fancy little sports car. Should I accept? Even if my truck still has some life left in it? It would be pretty foolish to pass this up.

I decide to think about it over breakfast, and I lift the cover from my plate to see scrambled eggs and three strips of bacon. It looks and smells delicious . . . not that this surprises me because Edward has proven himself to be quite the cook. I devour my food, snatch Edward's keys off the counter—figuring I'll rarely get an opportunity like this again—and head out for school.

The minute my ass hits the plush leather seat of Edward's black car, I sigh. While I've never been much of a car lover—they've really just been something to get me from point A to point B—I have to admit that I am _in love_ with this car.

And I haven't even started it yet.

I pull the seat forward, because Edward has at least eight inches of leg length on me, and adjust my mirrors before starting the car. It's a standard, which actually isn't a problem because so is my truck. Of course, this beautiful car isn't nearly as difficult to shift, and it doesn't take a majority of my lower body strength to depress the clutch.

The engine purrs like a kitten, and the car drives like a dream. It's so smooth, in fact, that I don't even realize I'm driving well over the speed limit until I gain on the car in front of me. I slow down and pay more attention to the speedometer so that Edward doesn't regret letting me use his car. The accelerator definitely seems a bit touchier than the one in my truck—probably because my truck is half of a century old.

I park my car in the university's parking lot and grab my bag from the passenger seat. The minute I step out, I can feel all eyes on me . . . and Edward's car. I try to ignore all the attention, but as I make my way through the lot, I spot Jake.

His face is healing, having been almost a week since Edward decked him, but shadows of the bruises still remain. This makes me smirk, and I carry on toward the main building, setting the alarm on Edward's car. Before I reach the doors, an arm loops through mine and walks with me.

"Nice wheels!" Alice exclaims.

"Thanks. Edward loaned me his car while he's away." The halls are crowded as we make our way through them to our first classes, and Alice is asking all about the car, my new place and, naturally, Edward. "You still coming over tonight?"

"You bet! I'm excited to prove that you're wrong about him."

I stop walking and glare down at her. "Alice, you are _not_ snooping around the house in search of evidence—evidence you won't find, by the way—that he's straight."

"Bella, the man threw you over his shoulder like a caveman—"

I interrupt her before she can go off on some crazy tangent, as she so often does. "Yeah, to throw me in the pool for turning his clothes pink . . . _Pink_, Alice."

This always makes her giggle. "I swear that stuff only happens to you."

"Right?"

We round the corner, laughing, and almost run down one of my classmates. "Mike!" I cry out, startled.

He looks adorably nervous, looking between Alice and me. "Oh, hey, Bella."

I'm picking up on something, and look down at Alice who's looking between Mike and me amusedly. It isn't until Mike stays put, focusing solely on me, that I realize something; he was waiting for me.

"So, listen, Bella. I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now." I'm silent, mainly because I don't really know what to say. "There's really no reason you would want to, I mean, you don't know me very well, but I thought I'd ask anyway . . ."

I laugh softly. "Mike, you're rambling."

He seems to relax a little, smiling down at me. "Right. Sorry. I was wondering if you were going to that party at the Psi Sigma Phi house . . . and maybe if you were, we could, I don't know, maybe go together?"

While I still don't really feel like jumping back into another relationship—well, except for the one I know can never happen—there's something kind of endearing about being asked out by a guy who seems sweet and normal.

Though, I suppose Jake seemed that way in the beginning too, and look how that turned out.

I push those thoughts aside, because it's really not fair to judge the entire male species based on the actions of a complete dog like Jacob Black. Even though I still have a bit of a crush on Edward, I know that it can never go anywhere. It's not sane or rational to sit around pining after someone who's unavailable, so I make a split decision.

"I wasn't going to," I begin to tell Mike.

His hopeful smile falls, and he shakes his head. "That's okay, I just figured I'd ask—"

"Mike!" I interrupt. "I _wasn't_ going to . . . but maybe it would be fun."

Hope returns to his blue eyes, and his smile brightens again. "Yeah?"

"Yes. It's Friday, right?" He nods, reaching for his phone in his pocket and handing it to me. "Here's my number. Call me and we'll figure out the details so you can pick me up at seven?"

"Great. I'll talk to you later then."

I turn to Alice the minute Mike's out of sight. "Please tell me you're going to that party."

Alice starts laughing. "You want me to be your third wheel? Bella, if you didn't want to go with him, why did you agree?"

I roll my eyes in exasperation. "It's not that I didn't want to go—I mean, sure, there are a million other things I can imagine doing at home on a Friday night—"

"My," Alice interrupts, "aren't we ambitious. You sure Edward would be open to doing those things with you?"

I shove her lightly, almost sending her into an oncoming wave of students, and snicker. "Shut up. Just tell me you're going."

Alice's eyes are filled with remorse. "I wish I could, but I have to go to my parents' place this weekend. Sorry."

"What if I can't think of anything to say?" I whine.

"Has it been that long since you've been to a frat party, Bella?" she asks, glomming back onto my arm so as not to get lost in the masses. "People rarely talk at those things. It's all dancing and drinking and tongues down other peoples' throats."

"Ew! You're so disgusting. It's a wonder you're single," I joke.

"Hey, I'm just playing the field until Mr. Right steps up to the plate." We stop outside Alice's class, and she lets go of my arm. "I'll see you later?"

"Definitely. Keep it clean, Brandon."

Alice and I meet up for lunch, like we do every day, and before we head off to our afternoon classes, Alice tells me she'll meet me out by my car at the end of the day. I'm excited to take her back to my new place and show her around, even though I know I'll have to keep an eye on her. I'm pretty sure she's not just joking about taking a more detailed tour than I'm willing to give.

After my last class, I gather my things, dig Edward's car keys out of the bottom of my bag, and head outside to meet up with Alice. I stop dead in my tracks when I see a body leaning up against my—Edward's car. Anger prickles beneath my skin, and I propel myself forward, posture rigid.

"Get off my car, Jake," I fume.

"Vanquish, huh?" I have no idea what that means; I assume he's talking about the car. Smirking, he pushes off the driver's side door. "I'm impressed that you finally decided to trade up. Your new sugar daddy helping you out with the payments?"

"Oh, grow up," I snarl venomously, throwing my bag in the trunk. "What do you want?"

He smiles, and there's something menacing about it. "Word around school is you've made a date with Newton."

"Yeah, so what? I don't need your permission to date anyone," I fire back at him.

Trailing the pad of his finger along the side of Edward's car, Jake makes his way toward me. "Maybe not, but don't you think your new boyfriend—you know, the one who decorated my face with his fist—would mind you stepping out on him?"

I'm more than annoyed—and also a little upset with myself for forgetting that Jake thought I was with Edward. "Listen, Jake, what I do is none of your business. Go back to Leah or whatever hole you crawled out of. Just . . . leave me the hell alone."

"You know what I think?"

I roll my eyes and cross my arms tightly across my chest—primarily so I don't beat the living crap out of Jake. "I really don't care what you think—actually, I didn't even know it was possible for _you_ to do that."

Pretending as though he doesn't hear me, Jake leans in, reaching out and picking up a strand of my hair with his index finger. "I don't think you and that guy are really together. I think you only wanted me to believe that so I would leave you alone."

"Whatever you say, Jake. What does it even matter?" I loosen my arms and swat his hand away from my hair. "I want you to stay away from me, and that's final."

Alice shows up then, and thankfully Jake leaves, but not before promising he'd talk to me later.

"What was that about?" Alice asks, shrugging her bag off her shoulder.

"Ugh," I grunt. "He heard about Mike asking me out and knows I'm not really with Edward now."

Alice shrugs. "Meh, whatever. Jake's a tool. Don't even waste your time thinking about him anymore." I open the trunk for her to put her bag inside, and she closes it. "Besides, we're supposed to be having fun tonight!"

Nodding, I open my door and slide into my seat. "You're absolutely right. Did you bring your suit? We could maybe hang out by the pool for a bit tonight."

"Fabulous! Yes I did."

I smile. "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

When we arrive at the house, I turn off the alarm and lead Alice up to my room so we can drop off our bags and change into our suits. I show her around upstairs, only allowing her to poke her head into Edward's well-kept room. We reach the stairs and I begin to descend them when Alice grabs my arm and tugs.

"Wait. What's in there?"

I open my mouth and then close it, because I don't really know what to say. "Actually," I finally say, "I'm not entirely sure. I've never been inside."

"Well, let's take a look," Alice suggests, moving toward the door.

Even though I would love nothing more than to do just that, I follow her and stop her before she has a chance to turn the knob and open the door. "No. There's probably a reason that Edward hasn't shown me this room. I think it's his and Emmett's special place or something . . . I don't know." I eye the door, my curiosity growing. Would it really be so bad to take one tiny little peek?

Alice turns the knob and pushes the door open before I can stop her—or maybe I could have, I just didn't want to. Her hands fly to her mouth and her bright eyes widen in fake shock. "Oops."

Once the door hits the wall behind it, I lean forward to see what it was hiding.

I'm . . . confused, and that confusion wraps itself around me and pulls me forward until I am standing in the centre of the room. I turn in slow, calculating circles as I take in the contents of the room. "It's . . . it's not what I imagined," I say aloud as Alice joins me.

"What did you think was in here?"

I blush and look at her through the corner of my eye. "Whips and chains and stuff."

Alice's hysterical laughter fills the room, echoing off the walls and sleek furniture. My eyes fall to the corner by the window where a piano sits, shiny and black and dust-free. There's a flat screen TV mounted on the wall and several gaming systems in the cabinet below it and a couch several feet back.

While my vision of the room had been entirely wrong, I still know what I heard that night.

"Come on," I say, grabbing Alice's wrist and dragging her from the room. "We shouldn't be in here. I feel weird about it."

"Bella, it's just a game room. What's to feel weird about? Look!" Alice exclaims, pointing toward the television. "He's got _Kinect_! Can't we please play?"

I shake my head. "No way. Not without asking permission first."

"Then call him!"

"No, he's working. Come on." I'm finally able to get her out of the room and down into the kitchen. There's still a little bit of the wine from the other night, so I pour us each a glass and prepare a little fruit tray for us to snack on while we relax outside.

As I wash the last sprig of grapes, I hear Alice ooh and aah behind me. "Who, might I ask, is this fabulous specimen?"

I turn to see what it is she's looking at, assuming its maybe one of the magazines Rosalie was looking at on the weekend. It's not, though. I place the grapes on the plate and move around the island to peer over her shoulder, and I recognize the papers immediately. "Oh, Edward must have forgotten those this morning. That's the baseball player he's trying to sign. Um . . ." I glance down under the photo and read his name. "Jasper Whitlock. He's from Houston."

"Well, he's delicious!"

It takes some doing, but I'm finally able to pull her away from Jasper's profile and out to the pool. We're out there for a little over an hour, just floating on our inflatable rafts, before I hear the house phone ringing.

"I'll be right back," I say, hopping out of the pool and walking toward the house. The phone is on its cradle near the patio door, so I pick it up, smiling when I see it's Edward.

"Hey, you."

His warm chuckle greets me before he speaks. "Good evening. How was class?"

I lean against the doorframe, looking out at Alice lounging on one of the floatation devices. "Really good. How's Houston?"

"Warm . . . and kind of lonely."

"Awww. Don't say that. I'm sure Emmett's keeping you all kinds of company," I say, knowing that their time away will probably be good for them if they're experiencing some kind of strain in their relationship.

"He does what he can, but he's down at the gym right now." Edward pauses briefly before continuing on. "And I just wanted to call and check in with you. See how things are going."

"Everything's great here. Alice and I are just out floating in the pool, having a light dinner and a glass of wine," I explain to him. "Then, I think we're going to head upstairs and do homework. All-in-all, we're a couple of party animals."

Edward laughs, and I have to admit I miss the sound already. "Well, I'm glad you ladies are having a good night . . ." Edward gets distracted by something, and then I hear Emmett's voice in the background. "Hey, Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Emmett just showed up. We're going to go and grab a bite to eat. I'll give you a call tomorrow?" he offers.

It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to hear Edward tell me he's going to call, but I know he's not saying it for the reasons I want him to. I'm taking care of his house for him; he just wants to make sure everything is going okay.

"Sounds good. I'll talk to you later. You boys have fun tonight," I instruct before hanging up and rejoining Alice.

We relax in the pool for another thirty minutes before we head inside and change into our pajamas. We both have assignments for separate classes to work on, so we hit the books. By midnight, we're both exhausted and climb under my blankets together with the intention to talk until one or both of us passes out.

"I wish I could stay tomorrow night too . . . actually, it would be great if I never had to leave at all," Alice joked with a light laugh.

"Yeah, I'm sorry you can't come back tomorrow night; I had a lot of fun today." I turn to her, only just making out the outline of her features in the dark. "We'll definitely do this again, though."

It's not long after that that we fall asleep. I can't be sure who passed out first, but I know we weren't too far off from one another.

**::: RwaV :::**

The next two days go by much slower than I'd like. School seems to drag on, and work is a bit of a bore, being mid-week. Of course, then I return home alone to a big empty house, where I cook myself dinner and watch an hour or two of TV before retiring to my room and doing homework.

The only part of my day that I really look forward to is around seven-thirty at night when Edward calls to check in. By Thursday, Edward assures me that he's signed Jasper to his agency and that he'll return on Friday as scheduled.

After hanging up with Edward, my phone rings again. This time, it's Mike. He apologizes for not calling earlier, citing his school assignments as his reason. It's one I can understand, and I accept it immediately. He confirms our plans for Friday night, and I tell him that everything still sounds great before giving him my address.

There are a couple of things for me to look forward to on Friday when I wake up; the first being Edward's return home around six, and then the chance to go out and have a little fun with my peers. Because I was so excited, I barely slept a wink Thursday night, and now I have to rely on a lot of coffee to get me through the day.

Thankfully, I only have a couple of classes and am home just after two. I don't really feel too tired anymore, figuring the caffeine has worked its way into my system enough to keep me going for a while. However, the minute I curl up on the couch in front of an afternoon talk show, my eyes begin to droop, and I fall asleep.

The dreams I have are bright and cheerful. Familiar green eyes are a prominent part of those dreams, and it seems as though we're more than just friends in this particular sequence.

We're lying in my bed, our legs intertwined and most of our clothes still on. His lips are on mine, soft at first, but soon becoming hungry with need as his hands grab at my body, wanting more, yet never pushing for it. My entire body warms as his lips begin to explore my neck, and my fingers thread themselves into the soft hairs on the back of his head to hold him in place against the hollow of my throat.

"_Bella_," he whispers, his breath sending a cool tickle over the skin he's just kissed. His lips leave my neck, and he looks directly into my eyes, bringing his right hand up to softly stroke my cheek. _"Bella."_

Something about his innocent touch feels different from all the rest in my dream, and his voice seems a little more hesitant. I try not to think about those things, though, and pull his face back to mine. Our lips barely touch before he speaks again. _"Bella, I'm home."_

My eyes flutter open, and I find myself staring across the low coffee table at the TV, my brain still muddled with the fog of sleep. As I continue to breach the barrier into consciousness, I realize it's six-fifteen, and the talk show I was watching before passing out is no longer on. I'm momentarily confused. Parts of my dream still linger, but it's all fading quickly—as dreams often do. I run my fingers through my hair and turn my head toward the ceiling. My heart leaps into my throat when I notice I'm not alone.

"Holy crap!" I cry out, slapping my hand to my chest in an attempt to keep my heart from breaking through.

Edward takes a small step back from his spot behind the couch and offers me an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I sit up, my heart calming more and more with each passing second. "No, that's okay." Edward moves around the sofa and sits next to me. "How was your flight?"

"Thankfully short. I couldn't wait to be home. I just hope that my next trip isn't for quite some time." With a content sigh, Edward relaxes back onto the couch and rests his head. "So, what do you want to do tonight? Order in? We could go out if you wanted to get out of the house?"

I'm about to tell him that we should go out, but then I remember I have plans. "Oh," I say, my voice falling to barely above a whisper. "I actually have plans tonight."

Edward seems happy to hear this. "Great. You going out to a movie with Alice?" he guesses.

"Um, no. There's this frat party on campus. I was invited to go by a classmate. Mike Newton."

The happy smile fades from his lips and he sits up, resting his forearms on his thighs and looking at his feet. "I see." Edward stands up and looks down at me. "Well, I'm going to go and unpack my things. You have fun tonight."

Edward leaves me alone in the living room, and I can't help but feel like he's upset with me. I don't like the idea, and I wonder what it is that I've done to upset him. I decide to go talk to him and make my way up the stairs. However, when I get up there, his door is closed, and I can hear him talking. Even though I know I shouldn't, I press my ear to the door. His voice is far too low for me to hear, so I give up trying and head to my room to get ready for the party.

I step into my closet and look through my clothes. It's been so long since I've gone out on a date—even with Jake—that I'm kind of at a loss. I shoot Alice a text for her advice since she knows my small wardrobe pretty well, and it's not long before I receive her reply.

_denim skirt & blue satin halter_

_you're welcome ;)_

I go through my clothes, locate the items she's suggested, and pull them on. It's not often I wear something like this, and as I look at myself in the full-length mirror in my closet, I begin to wonder why not. The skirt isn't so short that it gives the farm away for free, but it does show off a decent amount of leg, making them look longer than they are, and the shirt has a low back, showing off an ample amount of my lightly sun-kissed skin. Happy with how I look, I find a pair of comfortable heels to complete my outfit and head to the washroom to do my hair and makeup. I'm not much for wearing the stuff, so I keep it simple, playing up my eyes and the colour of my shirt with a light blue shadow and adding a coat of mascara. Keeping the low back of my shirt in consideration, I pull my hair up into a twist and secure it with several hairpins, letting the ends fall down to brush my neck.

Just as I'm giving myself a final once-over, the doorbell rings. I find I'm nervous, but not in a butterflies-in-stomach kind of way. Taking a deep breath, I exit my bedroom and go to answer the door. It takes me by surprise to find that Edward has already answered the door and let Mike in.

That's when the butterflies erupt. Not because I see Mike, I realize, but because Edward's eyes have shifted to watch me descend the stairs. I'm not entirely sure what it is, but there's something in the way he's staring at me that confuses me. If it were anybody else, I'd swear that particular look resembled . . . _desire._

I shake off the ridiculous thought and continue toward the door. When I look up at Mike, who's dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, he's looking at me in an entirely different way. I begin to wonder if Mike is expecting more than I'm willing to offer up tonight.

"Hey," Mike says, his eyes moving down the length of my body, taking a little more time than necessary on my breasts. "You look great."

"Thanks." I look between him and Edward. "I take it the two of you have met?"

Edward seems less than impressed; in fact, he seems downright hostile. "Oh, we've met." I try not to read too much into it, but I think I detect a note of jealousy in his voice. This only serves to further confuse me when I pair it alongside the way he was looking at me only moments ago.

I'm about to suggest to Mike that we leave when Edward's hand reaches out and takes mine. His hold is firm, yet gentle, and his thumb begins to move back and forth over the back of my hand. Sparks shoot up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and my eyes lock on Edward's. "Can I talk to you a minute while Mike waits for you . . . _outside_?"

"Uh, sure." I turn to Mike with a nervous smile. "Why don't you go wait in your car? I'll be right out."

Mike seems reluctant to do just that, but does so with one final look from Edward. I shouldn't, but I find this odd display of his kind of sexy. The minute Mike is outside, Edward closes the door, his palm flat against the door as if holding it closed in case Mike tries to come back inside.

"What's up?" I ask, truly curious about what is possibly going through Edward's mind right now.

"I don't like him," is his short reply.

I'm not sure how to reply to that. Edward doesn't even know Mike—hell, _I _don't even know him that well yet; isn't that what dates are for? To learn about someone that you may have expressed an interest in?

"I'm sorry?" I finally say.

Edward sighs heavily, dropping his hand from the door and running it through his hair, never breaking our stare—or his hold on my hand. "You could do so much better. I don't trust him."

I'm sure Edward's exactly right about being able to do better. However, what he doesn't realize is that I feel as though _he_ is my "better," and he's not an option.

"Edward," I say with a smile. "I don't think they can get much worse than Jacob Black."

"Bella, you don't know what he's thinking—"

"And you do?" I ask softly, smiling at him to show him I'm not upset by his need to keep me safe. He's doing this because he promised my dad; I know this to be a fact. "It's one date. I've shared a few classes with him, and he seems really nice."

"Looks can be deceiving."

There's no holding back my amusement. "_You_ look like a nice guy . . . are you telling me you're secretly a psychopath?"

He's pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his eyes shut. "That's different."

"Is it?" I ask. "My dad thought you were some crazy person, and he agreed to meet with you so you could prove him wrong. Shouldn't Mike be granted the same allowances?"

It's clear he's not happy that I've compared him and Mike, but it works. He opens the door, but still holds onto my hand, tethering me to him for a moment longer. There's something in the way he's holding onto me that reaches out to that small, distant part of me that's still holding onto a shred of hope that _maybe_ he's interested.

Then he let's go, and all hope is gone.

"Promise you'll call if you need absolutely anything. A ride, someone to talk to, anything."

I agree without a second thought, thanking him for his concern, and walk out to find Mike leaning against the passenger side door of his older Ford Focus, playing with his phone.

Upon seeing me, he slips his phone into his pocket and pushes off the car. "Well he's mighty protective, isn't he?"

He moves away from the door, and I smile expectantly, waiting for him to open it. When he doesn't, instead running around to his own door and hopping in immediately, I'm stunned. Slowly, I turn back to Edward, who's chuckling from his place in the doorway and shaking his head.

I understand that it isn't unusual for men to do this sort of thing—make their women open their own doors or pull out their own chairs—but since meeting Edward, I guess I had hoped that maybe Jake was the rarity.

Annoyed already—less than fifteen minutes into my first date—I open my door and climb in. I decide that I'm not going to hold this against him, and that it's just how he was taught.

The entire drive to the party, Mike is talking about the big football game on Sunday. "I'm having a few buddies over to watch the game on my flat screen. You should stop by."

"Oh," I tell him, "I can't. I'm actually going to the game on Sunday."

Mike's eyes go wide, and he turns to me for a longer period of time than I'm entirely comfortable with since he's driving. "When did you get tickets? I've been trying for _months_."

I smile, remembering dinner with Edward and my parents quite fondly. "Edward, actually. He's taking my parents and me. The team's manager gave him tickets for signing the new quarterback."

Mike's mouth is now equally as wide as his eyes; it's kind of frightening. "Your landlord gave you tickets? That's . . . weird."

"I don't know," I tell him with a laugh. "I thought it was kind of sweet."

We arrive at the party a few minutes later, and Mike gets out of the car and starts for the door—while I'm still sitting in the passenger seat. He's docking himself points left and right, but I continue to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Walking as fast as I can in my heels, I catch up to him before we pass through the door, and he snickers. "What took you so long?"

It takes all the strength I can muster to not slam his face into the side of the doorframe. He's lucky he is able to redeem himself a little when he spots the keg and offers to get us both a drink.

"Thank you. That would be great." I watch as he crosses the room and talks to the guy manning the pump. While he's gone, I take a look around at the party to find it's already in full swing. Men and women are grinding in the large living room area as heavy dance beats make the walls and windows rattle, and there are couples making out in every corner. I haven't been to one of these things since last year, and I can clearly see that they haven't changed.

Mike returns a couple of minutes later with my beer. "Your new place looks great," Mike says, trying to start the conversation. "What made you decide to move off campus?"

I quirk my eyebrow at him, because I am more than certain the rumors surrounding my moving out of the dorms has been made public. "You're joking, right?" He says nothing. "Well, when someone finds out their boyfriend and roommate are sleeping together, there's not really much keeping you here."

Mike doesn't seem surprised by this news, which can only tell me he did know. "That sucks," is all he says. "Can I ask if you know how he got the black eye?"

I'm just taking a sip of my drink when I laugh. "Edward."

"Your landlord?" I nod, and Mike shakes his head in disbelief.

Mike continues to ask me questions, and I'm surprised that I'm able to contribute to the conversation here and there. However, it seems that every time I bring up Edward, Mike becomes agitated. We talk about Mike's plans for the weekend, and when he asks what I plan to do, I remind him of the football game with Edward and my parents. This leads Mike to ask how that was even arranged, and I explain the dinner last week where Edward invited us all.

Naturally, I remember the whipped cream on the tip of Edward's fingers and get that warm tingly feeling in my lower belly. I don't mention this out loud, but I imagine it over and over again before I let the memory play out to when I got whipped cream on my own clumsy digits.

_And Edward dropped his fork._

It must be the beer, because that memory shouldn't be sticking out as prominently as it is . . . Should it?

Mike interrupts my thoughts, asking about the car I was driving to school the past few days.

"It's Edward's," I reply without thinking. "He wanted to be sure I had a more reliable vehicle while he was away on business."

I swear I can feel Mike's annoyance flare. "Of course. Next you're going to tell me he's the world's best cook."

"He's not bad, actually," I inform him, thinking back on all the delicious meals Edward has prepared for us: the Alfredo dish, bacon and egg breakfasts, spaghetti . . .

_And Edward dropped his spoon into the sauce._

Something else clicks into place—even though I didn't know there was a place for it _to _click.

As the hours go by, I've become progressively more drunk. Mike and I have been doing shots in between my apparently bottomless red solo cup of beer. Sure, it's probably not the best way to avoid a hangover—or alcohol poisoning—but I'm kind of having a good time. I'm not fully aware of when or why I do it, but it seems like every time Mike starts up a new topic, I bring up Edward, always seeming to find a way to relate it to whatever Mike's just said. However, the more I talk about him, the more I seem to remember all of these little things I originally sloughed off as unimportant because I had figured there was no way Edward would ever act that way or say certain things around me.

_The way his fingers brushed my knee when he was trying to comfort me about his leaving . . . The smiles he's always giving me . . . Even just the way his eyes always lock on mine._

"Edward again, huh?" Mike says after I tell him another Edward story. I think he's exasperated, but he could also be drunk . . . because I'm drunk, and I think everyone here is drunk.

"Edward's awesome." My words are only slightly slurring as I state this as a fact. I think.

Mike seems to ignore my statement completely. "Look, can we stop talking about your landlord? How about we go and dance?"

"Uhhh . . ." I look behind me at the lazy dancers, leaning up against each other for balance—actually, upon closer observation they're not leaning; they're pawing at each other and on the verge of public sex. Some people have no shame.

"Bella?" My eyes snap back to Mike's a little too fast, and I lose my balance. He catches me, but I don't like how his dry, calloused fingers feel on the skin of arm. They itch. Edward's, though? They're nice. Like little jolts of electricity making my heart beat faster and my stomach flip.

"What?" I ask before remembering what he just asked. "Oh, right. Um, I'm going to go to the washroom first."

Unable to deny me my girl time, he lets me go, and I stumble through the large crowd to find the bathroom. I do what needs to be done, wash my hands, and fix my hair. As I glance over my reflection, I flash back to when I was coming downstairs to meet Mike back at the house. There is no denying that there was something in the way Edward was looking at me.

There's a knock on the door that startles me until I hear Mike's voice calling for me from the other side. When I open the door, he's holding my cup out to me. I'm suddenly not feeling like partying and just want to go home; I want to see Edward. Even in my drunken state, I can't seem to let go of my feelings for him.

"What's wrong?" Mike asks, placing his hard, scratchy hand on my bare back and leading me back out into the throng of people.

"It's just getting late, and I'm feeling kind of tired," I lie. "Would you hate me if I wanted to go home?"

While he doesn't say yes, something in his eyes tells me he's not exactly pleased. "I thought we were going to dance?"

I look around at the "dancers" and cringe. "Um, I'm not really a great dancer. And besides, I don't do"—I raise my hand, waving my outstretched index finger around at eeeeeverybody in the room—"that."

Mike's hand moves across my back, even dipping beneath the soft fabric of my shirt slightly, and he leans in until he's whispering in my ear. It reminds me of the morning I made French toast for Edward, only Mike's breath is nowhere near as sweet and warm as Edward's. "Bella, _everybody_ does that."

Shaking my head, I pull away from Mike; I need his hand off me, and I suddenly feel the need to scrape my neck and ear clean with a Brillo Pad. "Mmm mmm," I disagree. "Not me. Not ever. Look, I just want to go home. Please?"

Sighing heavily, Mike gives in to my request. "Fine. Let's go."

We step outside, and Mike starts leading me to his car. I stop instantly because, even though I'm really drunk, I know that there's no way Mike is fit to drive. "Um, would you mind if we walked? I don't think you should drive."

"Bella, I'm fine, really." I shake my head adamantly, and he concedes again. "Whatever you say."

It's about a thirty-minute walk—maybe more because I can't seem to walk in a completely straight line. Mike keeps trying to take my hand, but I'm pretty sly and keep moving it to fiddle with my hair. He seems to be put out by my non-hand-holding, only I can't seem to care.

We finally arrive at my house, and Mike walks me up to the door. The porch light is still on, and I can see the dim light of one of the lamps on in the living room. Is Edward still up? The thought that he is excites me more than I can even say.

"I had fun tonight," Mike says in a husky voice, reminding me that he's still here. _Boo._

I try not to giggle, but fail miserably; he sounds ridiculous. "Uh, yeah," I concur to be nice. "It was all right."

"What do you say we have a little more fun?"

_Uh oh . . ._ I do not like the way that sounds. Nope. Uh uh. Not at all.

Leaning in, Mike starts to play with a tendril of my hair, his eyes moving back and forth between mine and then roving down my body. It makes me nervous. "So, you gonna to invite me in?"

"No," I answer quickly with a laugh. I hate the way he keeps invading my personal bubble.

"Come on . . ." Mike leans in further, his hand cupping my jaw and moving back until his fingers are resting on the base of my neck. His face is slowly getting closer, and he's licking his dry, cracked lips. Dread fills my body, and I grab the doorknob behind my back.

With my free hand, I reach up and grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from me, and step back. "I said _no_." I turn the knob behind me to see that it's thankfully unlocked, and I clumsily step just over the threshold, leaving Mike on the porch.

"You know what?" There's a fire in his eyes, and not that sexy, smoldery kind like Edward's, either. Nah, he looks pissed. Rejected. "You're nothing but a tease. I put up with you going on and on and _on_ about that guy all night, and I get nothing in return?"

My head feels fuzzy, and the outer rim of my vision is still cloudy from the beer. "What did you want, Mike? A medal?" He glares at me, and whatever verbal filter I have left is washed away by the alcohol in my system. I don't even know what I'm saying until I've said it. "Actually, I've got a few participation ribbons for dates who turn out to be sore losers upstairs . . . you want me to go get you one, cupcake?" There's a warm, familiar chuckle off to my left, and if I really hone my peripheral vision, I can see Edward leaning in the doorway of the living room.

Mike doesn't seem to appreciate my joke as much as Edward does—which is because Mike's not awesome like Edward. "Screw you," he spits. "This was such a waste of time." Grumbling something about my being a frigid tease, he retreats down the stairs.

Annoyed that the only reason he asked me out was to get into my pants, I slam the door. "UGH!"

"Hey, take it easy, champ. What did the door ever do to you?" Edward jokes.

Turning to face him a little too quickly, I topple over. Before I can hit the ground, though, Edward is there to catch me. His arms are around my waist, and my shirt has risen up a couple of inches. I can feel the bare skin of his forearms against my flesh, and I exhale shakily.

"You're drunk," he points out.

I nod. "And you're like a detective," I tease, poking his chest—his hard, muscley chest. As though my hand has a mind of its own, it flattens against his chest, but before I can get too out of control with my drunken groping, Edward helps me stand upright, pulling my shirt back into place for me.

Killjoy.

I take in his appearance, noticing that he's dressed in a white cotton tee and a pair of grey plaid pajama pants, and he looks absolutely delicious. He clears his throat, and when I look up at him, I think I barely catch a glimpse of him checking me out too. _Weird._

"Why don't you go change, and I'll make you some coffee," he offers, turning me toward the stairs. "You need to sober up a little, or you'll be in a world of pain tomorrow."

For some reason, my brain turns this into something dirty, and I envision whips and chains and stuff—like I thought his fun-room upstairs held.

I stumble on the first step because I am imagining being tied up, and also because I've got no control over my legs. Sitting on the stairs, I bend over to remove my shoes—because I'm certain they're also a culprit—but soon give up because it just seems like _a lot_ of work.

Ever my knight-in-shining-armour, Edward kneels before me and gently grabs my ankle, removing my right shoe and then my left. That familiar spark pulses beneath my skin and up my legs, coming to a full stop between my thighs. I wish his hands would follow that trail.

The minute I think it, his hand moves up from my ankle until it's caressing my calf muscle. I'm certain it's only been a few seconds—if that—but it feels like he's been holding onto my leg for much, _much_ longer. Biting my lip, I stare at him, trying to figure out the look in his eyes. Before I can analyze further, he glances away and sets my foot back on the stair.

"Go change. I'll make coffee."

He leaves me alone and confused. As if it isn't bad enough that my mind is working over-time to wade through the alcohol, now I have to try to figure out why _he's_ acting so funny?

"Ugh," I grumble, rolling over and pushing myself to my feet so I can climb the stairs. "Men suck."

Opening my bedroom door, I walk into my room and shed my clothes, dropping them to the floor as I walk to my dresser. I pull out a pair of sleep shorts, a thin tank top, and a pink button-up flannel pajama top that is covered in bright red cherries. I pull it on, leaving it unbuttoned, and giggle because the colour of it reminds me of Edward's ruined laundry.

Once I'm dressed, I brush my teeth, because the taste of beer has begun to make me feel nauseous. It's possible I'm a little more drunk than I've ever been. Now that I've got minty-fresh breath, I head down the stairs with the intention of going to the kitchen, but Edward has just appeared with two cups of fresh coffee and leads me to the living room.

Before he gives me my coffee, he asks me to take a seat. "Here you go. Be careful; it's hot."

I take the mug from him, blow on it before taking a sip, and then set it on the coffee table. "Thanks."

Edward nods, smirking over the rim of his own cup as he takes a drink. "So, Mike seems _really _nice," he says, and I have this weird feeling that I've heard that before . . . Oh right, _I _said it before leaving with the creep.

Playfully, I lean over and shove his shoulder. "Shut up. I was wrong, okay? You happy now?"

His smile disappears, and he sets his cup next to mine before turning to me. "No. Not happy. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to punch that guy?"

"There you go again," I tease, shrugging. "Always with the punching."

Edward laughs, making me feel better because I don't like when he's so tense. "Yes, I suppose I do need to work on my impulses."

I shrug. "I don't know. I kind of wanted to punch him too. A couple of times, actually." We're both silent for a while, leaving me alone with far too many thoughts to handle. I think back to my high school boyfriend, to Jake, and now to Mike. How is it I attract these guys? Am I emitting some kind of loser pheromone?

"I don't get it," I finally say, breaking the silence. "What's wrong with me?"

Edward's eyes widen incredulously. "Excuse me?" I don't elaborate further, because it seems like a pretty straightforward question. "Bella, there's nothing _wrong_ with you."

"Please," I snort. "Then explain how I keep letting this happen."

Moving closer to me, Edward rests his arm along the back of the couch and exhales heavily. "Bella, you're the type of person who's always trying to see the good in people. It's not your fault that they fail to see just how beautiful you really are."

I scoff. "Yeah, okay."

His eyes narrow, almost like he's trying to get inside my head. Not exactly the safest place to be swimming right now. "How is it you don't see just how great you are? You're warm, compassionate . . . stunning."

"You're crazy," I tell him pointedly. "In fact, I think that's it." He opens his mouth to speak, but I reach out and rest my index finger against his mouth to silence him. "Shhh . . . I'm having an epiphany here. I think there's a very real possibility that all men are crazy. That has to be it." Edward smiles against the pad of my finger, drawing my attention back to his mouth—to his perfect, soft, kissable lips.

Licking my own lips, I shift my hand slightly until it's my thumb touching his mouth, and my gaze darts between it and his own intense stare. "You know," I say softly, "you've got the perfect Cupid's bow." My thumb moves lazily along the ridge of his upper lip, and his eyelids drop slightly.

"Bella," he whispers against my roaming thumb, his eyes falling closed while his hand comes up to cover—but not move—mine. The minute his thumb presses into the pulse point at my wrist, I know he can feel just how fast my heart is racing.

For him. Always for him.

When his eyes open again, they're a brilliant emerald and filled with unmistakable want. While this confuses me, I also know without a doubt that I'm not imagining it. He continues to stare at me in a way I thought I never would have expected. However, when I think back over the last week, I come to realize that this isn't the first time he's looked at me . . . and I mean _really_ looked at me.

I'm aware that my alcohol-induced state is probably forcing my brain to blow everything out of proportion, but there has to be something there; a spark that maybe, just maybe, has the potential to grow out of control.

I know it's wrong, but I can't fight it anymore. And with the amount I've had to drink tonight, I don't know if I'd be able to fight it even if I wanted to. Impulsively, I move forward on the couch until my knees touch his thigh. Butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach at what I am about to do; never in a million years have I been the one to initiate anything, and while I know there's a very real possibility that he'll reject me, something in my brain tells me to proceed. "I-I want to try something," I tell him, my voice soft and raspy. I remove my thumb from his soft lips, letting my hand rub the scratchy stubble along his jaw, and I lean closer to him than I've ever been.

Our eyes are locked, our breathing is matched breath for laboured breath, and he nods. I move in a little closer until the tip of my nose brushes his, and his hold on my hand tightens. My lips are so close to his I can feel the warmth of his breath. "Don't. Move," I instruct. His head bobs slightly in understanding, and I close the very small gap between us.

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><p><strong>AN2: So, there it is. It would seem that Bella is finally starting to see things as they really are.**

**And, yes, I am fully aware of the cliffie. If it helps, ch11 is almost done, so you will probably get another update this week ;)**

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**I know I've been kind of an uber-fail on review replies (again) but in my defense, this chapter is closing at over 13,000 words, so I'd say my time was well-spent, yes?**

**In other news, Rm w/a Vu has been nominated to be one of the FIVE "Fic of the Week" choices on The Lemonade Stand! If you'd like to see it reviewed and pimped there, please take the time to go to the site and vote for it! Tons of other great fics have been selected too, so be sure to vote for your faves!**

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**Until next time, lovelies :)**

**xoxo**


	11. Bad Timing

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**So, kinda left you hanging there with the kiss, huh? Fuck, I'm so rude!**

**Before we go on to see if they did indeed kiss, I just have to say that I can't believe how many of you thought she was going to puke all the hell over him! HAHA! I seriously considered changing it, just to fuck with you all ;)**

**I won't keep you waiting any longer. Let's just see what happens, shall we?**

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><p><strong>Chapter 11. Bad Timing<strong>

I only peck his lips at first, staring into his eyes to gauge his reaction. When he doesn't seem utterly repulsed, I kiss him again. This time, I press a little firmer than before, my bottom lip finding a home between his. With a moan, his mouth moulds to mine, and his eyes close. Swept up in the moment, I allow my own eyes to flutter shut, and he drops my hand in favour of cradling my face.

In the back of my mind, I know this was only supposed to be an experiment—one I wasn't sure he would allow me to conduct—but it appears to have been successful for the most part. His fingers move up into my hair, releasing it a little from the loosening hairpins and sending a delicious wave of pleasure down my spine.

Even though I don't want to, I stop kissing him, opening my eyes to see him staring at me, bewildered, and he's breathing quite heavily. I definitely see something there, something that pulls me back to him. That spark I saw only a moment ago has definitely ignited, and my entire body feels like it's caught fire; it's all-consuming, and I feel as though there's only one way to extinguish the burn.

I don't think anymore; I act.

In a flash, I'm moving to straddle him, my lips seeking his out again, and I rejoice once they've made contact. It's Edward who makes the next move, his fingers curling in my hair, and his mouth parting slightly until I feel the sensual warmth of his tongue pressing against my lower lip. I release a sigh, and soon my own tongue is moving languidly against his as his hands move from my hair and run down the length of my back, stopping when they reach the curve of my backside. I can feel Edward's fingers trailing along the hemline of my sleep shorts, tickling the sensitive flesh right below my ass, while his thumbs move in firm strokes over the thin cotton fabric. The gentle movements of his fingers send shots of white-hot passion pulsing through my veins until they settle between my legs, and I can't take it anymore; I shift my hips against him to quell the intense desire I've felt for this man since early on.

There's this low growl that comes from Edward when I thrust toward him again, which only makes me want to kiss him harder and deeper. So, obviously, I do. He's _more_ than receptive to every single one of my impulses, pulling my hips to him again, a little rougher this time, and I gasp in surprise the minute I make contact with his own arousal.

I'm so caught up in the way he's making me feel that I don't really have the brain capacity to think about the fact that Edward's erection is currently pressing between my legs with only two thin layers of fabric keeping us from going any further because . . . well, because Edward's erection is currently pressing between my legs with only two thin layers of fabric keeping us from going any further.

"More," I plead breathlessly against his lips, letting my hands travel down his body, grabbing at the hem of his shirt and tugging it upward so I can feel his bare chest with my hands. It's then that his hands leave my backside and grab hold of my wrists, stopping me. He stops kissing me and just stares deep into my eyes while we both pant heavily. Edward's lips are red and swollen from our kiss, and I can see my tousled reflection in his eyes.

"Bella," he says, holding my hands still. While his deep green eyes still scream with desire, there's something else there too: remorse. "We can't. Not like this."

I feel sick to my stomach—and not because of the alcohol. Actually, I'm feeling slightly less drunk as reality comes crashing back down around me. I tug my wrists free and climb off of his lap, feeling pretty damn humiliated—and also like an awful human being because I basically just forced myself on Edward with no warning.

_He wanted it too_, I try to tell myself, but it doesn't change the fact that I still acted without consideration for Emmett. Emmett, Edward's partner. I've turned Edward into a cheater—the same thing I've condemned Jake for.

I press my fingers to my lips because they're still hot and tingly from our kiss. "I-I'm sorry," I whisper. "I-I—" There's nothing I can think of saying that will make everything all right between us, so I rush from the living room and up the stairs.

Behind me, I hear Edward get off the couch. "Damn it," he curses quietly. "Bella, wait."

While I want to hear what he has to say, I also don't think I can bear it. Not right now, anyway. I hurry up the last two stairs and fly into my room, closing the door and keeping all of the lights off before flopping down on my bed and staring at the door.

I fully realize that I'm not handling this the way I should be; I should be down there right now, talking to him and clearing the air between us. I guess I'm just scared. I've been rejected, cheated on, and more recently used, and I just don't think I can handle Edward telling me that what I was doing was wrong . . . that _I'm _wrong. For him. For everyone.

Basically, I'm a coward.

The light in the hall comes on, and I lift my head from my pillow the minute I see Edward's shadow appear beneath my door. There's a gentle knock, followed by him whispering my name, but I don't respond; I let him believe I've passed out. He stays put for a few minutes before eventually retreating to his room, and I'm left alone with my guilt until I finally succumb to sleep.

When I wake the next morning, my head is pounding, and I swear I'm never drinking again. I open my eyes slowly in hopes of keeping the light of day from making the piercing pain worse, and am pleasantly surprised to see I'm still shrouded in near-darkness. The time on my clock reads _11:00_, and since I know I arrived home closer to midnight, I know it has to be morning.

So why is it so dark?

Still lying on my stomach, I push myself up and crane my neck to look toward my balcony doors, only to find the dark shades have been drawn. I know immediately that I didn't do that, which can only mean that Edward did.

_Edward . . ._

I'm instantly transported to the memory of last night and how I have very likely ruined the friendship we've built. "Oooooh noooo," I groan, dropping my face back into my pillow. There's no way I'm going to be able to face him—not after that.

Sure, the kiss was amazing, and I had experienced things that I honestly never had before in my life. But it doesn't change the fact that I was out of line. I never should have kissed him. I never should have climbed onto his lap. I never should have . . . never should have ground myself against him like a brazen hussy.

Then everything that happened last night plays over and over in my mind like a movie on loop: He _let_ me kiss him. He _let_ me straddle him. _He_ guided my hips against him. This isn't just on me; I know that. What I'm really having trouble understanding is _why _did he let me?

Is he confused? Because, if he is, he can join my club. I'll even let him be Vice President. Maybe treasurer too.

I can't think about this anymore; I'm making myself crazy. What I need to do is put it all behind me and act like a grown up. Edward will understand that I can't be held responsible for my actions while intoxicated. He has to.

Right?

An infernal buzzing sound fills the room—and my head—making my brain pulse against the inside of my skull. A pretty picture, I know; it feels about as spectacular as it sounds.

I reach for my phone on my nightstand, but it's not there. Then I remember undoing my skirt and letting it fall to the floor before pulling on my pajamas. I allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness and scour the floor for my skirt. I actually don't see my clothes anywhere at all.

My phone buzzes again, and this time, I see the screen light up on the top of my dresser. Groaning, I crawl out of bed and grab my phone to check my missed text message.

_Hey, baby. Your father and I wanted to know if you wanted to go for lunch today. Let me know. We can pick you up on the way :) xo_

Food is really the last thing on my mind right now; I need to get rid of this headache first. Though, after that, I know I'll need hangover food, and I bet I can convince them to go to IHOP.

I quickly return my mother's text and ask if I can choose the restaurant before setting my phone down and opening my bedroom door. Across the hall, I can see that Edward's door is wide open and his bed is made. I poke my head out into the hall and listen, not hearing anything. The silence suffocates me, and I fear he's avoiding me, which makes me feel queasy. Sure, I realize just how hypocritical that makes me since that's exactly what I did last night when he knocked on my bedroom door and I pretended to be asleep.

My phone vibrates again, and I read my mom's response; they'll be here in about an hour to pick me up for lunch. My choice of restaurant.

Knowing I don't have very long, I head into my bathroom to quickly brush my teeth so I can go downstairs to grab a cup of coffee and maybe a piece of toast to help the light stomachache I've got. I stop just inside the bright bathroom when I spot a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol sitting next to my sink, and I smile at how sweet it is that Edward has gone to such lengths to ease my hangover.

Maybe I'm over-reacting about all of this.

I take two of the painkillers from the bottle and pick up the glass, noticing that the water is still chilled. This can only mean he'd been in my room not too long ago.

After taking them, I go about ridding my mouth of the foul after-taste of alcohol, coffee, and sleep. Looking into the mirror, I cringe at the sight of my hair; it's an absolute mess, so I take a minute to remove the hairpins and brush it, cursing at myself for not doing it the night before. Once it's looking a little less like I should be doing the walk of shame, I wash my face and button my flannel shirt before heading downstairs for coffee.

I glance into the living room to see that Edward isn't there. I poke my head through the basement door, and I hear nothing. Finally, I enter the kitchen, and he's still nowhere to be found. The smell of fresh coffee greets me, though, and as usual, sitting next to the coffee maker is an empty mug. I pour myself some coffee, adding only a small splash of cream and sugar so as not to upset my stomach, and pop a slice of bread into the toaster.

While I wait for my toast to pop, the sliding door opens, forcing me to spin around and my heart to race wildly. As usual, he looks fantastic in a pair of slightly worn-out blue jeans and a grey long-sleeved t-shirt. He hasn't shaved, which then brings back the memory of how his stubble felt beneath my hand right before I kissed him. Naturally, this memory makes me blush, and I have to avert my eyes from him.

He doesn't seem surprised to see me. "Hey," he says softly, probably because he knows I've got a headache.

"Morning," I reply. "Where . . . I mean, I didn't . . ."

His hesitance radiates off him. "I've been out on the patio," he tells me, answering the question I couldn't finish. "Thinking."

With a slight nod, I offer him a smile, knowing full well that if I open my mouth to say something, I'll spill my guts to him, and I'm just not ready to deal with that yet. Before he can see the deepening blush that is slowly staining my cheeks, I return my gaze to the toaster.

"How are you feeling?"

I know I can't refuse to answer a direct question without coming across as rude or hostile, so I shrug, still focusing rather intently on the red elements inside the toaster. "Physically? Not as bad as I probably should," I reply.

Through the corner of my vision, I see him approach me. "Bella . . ."

I turn to him, pleading with my eyes not to bring up what happened last night. My stomach feels uneasy, and my heart continues to race when he reaches out and takes my hand in his. I glance down at the contact and watch as his thumb begins to move back and forth over the back of my hand—just like it did last night . . . right before I left with Mike.

"About last night," I say, speaking up before he can. "I'm so sorry. I guess I was just feeling kind of down on myself after finding out that yet another guy was able to pull the wool over my eyes, and was looking for a little . . . um, validation?" I stop talking immediately, because I know I'm not making this any better.

I glance up at him through my lashes to find him smiling, and I want to believe that he's harbouring no ill will toward me, but somehow I'm doubtful. "I'm not sure why you're apologizing. You didn't act alone."

There's a huge part of me that wants to take comfort in his statement. The problem is, every time I remember just how two-sided our almost-affair was, I kind of go catatonic, because the memory of just how amazing it felt when his thick, hard—

Inhaling a shaky breath, I force myself to stop thinking about it before I get myself into even more trouble. "I'm apologizing because I never should have kissed you. It was wrong. You said so yourself."

Edward's eyebrows pull together, and he looks absolutely baffled. "Wrong? I never once said it was _wrong_."

"But it was," I tell him, running my available hand through my hair and gripping tightly at the roots until it stings. "God, on so many levels."

"Name one." The strength in his voice makes it sound like he's challenging me.

Looking him dead in the eye, I answer in an unwavering voice. "Emmett. There's one."

"What? How do you figure?" I can only look at him, because how does he figure that Emmett isn't a factor in all of this?

Edward moves to cradle my face in his hands and looks deep into my eyes. The intensity of his stare reminds me of the night before, and I fail to answer his question in lieu of getting lost in him. My hands move of their own accord to his waist, my thumbs looping into the belt loops on his jeans and holding steady.

Edward's eyes close, and he rests his forehead to mine. His thumbs begin to move gently along my temples, lulling my own eyes shut as I give in to the tingle that is moving through me and sigh. "Forget about him," he whispers, his lips touching down on my nose once . . . twice . . . three times.

There's a very brief moment of time that I _do_ forget about him. I forget about him long enough to tug Edward's body closer to mine. Long enough to stand on the tips of my toes and let my lips graze his.

Then I remember him—remember everything—and I pull away, covering my mouth with the tips of my fingers and shaking my head. "I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't, Edward. He matters, I know he does . . . How can you deny that?"

It pains me to watch the expression on Edward's face contort to one so defeated. "I guess I can't." I nod solemnly and turn to the toast that had popped a few minutes ago and is now probably cold.

I've just started to butter it when Edward leans against the counter right next to me. "Can I just ask you one thing?" he asks, his voice not belying the fact that he's somewhat distraught. Not wanting to refuse him, I nod. "Why him?"

Confused by his question, I set the butter knife down and turn to him. "You tell me."

I can tell he's frustrated, I just can't be entirely sure why. My head is starting to hurt again, but I'm fairly certain it's not from my hangover. I run his question over and over in my mind, but it doesn't seem to matter how I try to spin it, I can't make sense of why he's asking it.

"I don't know what it is you want me to say," Edward says. "You're the one who keeps bringing him up. Always asking about him . . . You do know he's not available, right?"

Dumbfounded, I turn to stare up at him. "Uh, yeah I know that. You guys made it pretty obvious the day I met him."

Silence falls between us, and we continue to stare at one another. He looks just about as perplexed as I feel, and it takes a minute, but he finally speaks again. "So, you know that he and Rose are engaged . . . and yet, you still—"

"What?" I interrupt, my confusion reaching an all-time high. "No . . . I . . . what do you mean he and Rose are . . . ? I thought that . . ."

My hands fly to my mouth, and I stare at Edward, absolutely horrified as all of the dots begin to connect seamlessly. Within seconds, they form a giant neon sign in my mind that reads, _EDWARD IS NOT GAY! _

"Oh god," I whisper into my hands.

Edward regards me with raised eyebrows as I internally kick myself for jumping to yet another wrong—and much, much worse—conclusion. "Wait, so you _didn't_ know that he and Rose were together?" He doesn't wait for me to respond before he starts his own little connect-the-dot puzzle. "But you said you knew he was involved? And you said that we made it . . ." The instant his eyes widen, I cringe and await his outburst.

He backs away from me, and I open my mouth to begin yet another round of apologies, but no words come out. This happens several times, but it's Edward who beats me to it, yet again.

"So, you thought . . . ?" He's pacing on the other side of the island, looking at me, then the floor, then at me again. "That day you met Emmett, you . . . you thought that _we_ were together?"

My face kind of scrunches up, and I shrug in response. "Would you believe me if I said I was just kidding?" He stops pacing and looks at me with an unreadable expression. "No? Didn't think so. I—in my defense, I asked all sorts of questions, and every answer that _both_ of you gave led me there. You even introduced him as your partner."

"_Business _partner," Edward corrects. Even though I feel like he should be furious, he just looks amused and somewhat relieved by this turn of events.

"Okay, so he's your business partner." Edward nods, the smile on his face growing. "Then explain the room," I insist with a one-shouldered shrug.

"My game room?" he asks, and I nod, having now seen it with my own eyes. "We were playing _Kinect Sports_, and Em is highly competitive."

"But the things the two of you were saying," I interject. "What could he have possibly been doing?"

Edward chuckles. "He's always making inappropriate gestures and shit to throw me off my game so he can win. Sometimes it works, and other times I think he's just being a ridiculous ass." Realization flashes through Edward's eyes, and he moves around the island again until he's standing a few feet away from me. "Wait a minute . . . were you _listening_?"

Blushing, I hold his stare, unable to look away—not that I would even if I wanted to right now. "Maybe," I tell him softly, taking a small step toward him.

He matches my advance, and my breath shudders. "So, when I came out into the hall that night—after you'd knocked the candle over—I had really just caught you eavesdropping?"

I take another step forward and try to contain a smirk. "Perhaps."

"And, if I'm remembering correctly," he muses aloud, taking one more stride as well. "You were looking a tad flushed. Could you have _enjoyed _it?"

It's me that takes that final step, and Edward reaches up to push a few strands of hair away from my face. He's handling my epic misunderstanding far better than I think he should be—not that I'm complaining.

Slowly, his hands move down until they rest along my jaw and neck. The tips of his fingers are tickling at the short hairs along the nape of my neck, and the tiny hairs all over my body prickle, making me shiver.

Taking a moment to look deep into his eyes, I smile impishly. "Now who's jumping to conclusions?"

We stand in the kitchen, silent as we try to absorb everything we'd just unearthed. The way he's looking down at me should feel odd, but for some unknown reason, this—being in his arms—just feels right.

"I've made a lot of assumptions in the past two weeks," I admit quietly, and Edward chuckles. "So, in order to clear a few things up, I'm going to ask you one thing."

Edward nods, leaning forward and kissing my forehead lightly. I sigh when the warmth of the gesture spreads beneath my skin and envelops me completely. "Ask me anything," he tells me, kissing my right cheek next and making my legs tremble. "I'll tell you anything you want to know." Then he kisses my left cheek, and my fingers curl against my thigh. Finally, he kisses the tip of my nose, and I giggle at the ticklish sensation. "Ask away."

"So, just to clarify for my own personal peace of mind, you're not gay?"

Edward breathes out a single laugh, shaking his head. "I can't believe you'd even think that, because from the minute I opened that damn door, all I seem to be able to think about is you."

I'm rendered momentarily speechless, but realize I should probably get a straight answer—no pun intended. "That isn't clear enough," I tease.

His hands move down my body until they rest on my lower back. "I don't know how much clearer I can be, Miss Swan."

"I need you to say it," I inform him, tilting my head up and ghosting his lips with mine. "Out loud."

I must be having a similar effect on him to the one he has on me, because his breath shudders when I withdraw my lips. "Jesus, Bella," he whispers in a raspy, breathless voice. "I'm not gay."

My heart is pounding so hard it's all I seem to be able to hear behind the echo of his confession. Needing him closer, I wrap my arms around his neck. I break eye contact with him and run my lips over his stubbled jaw, stopping when I reach his ear. "Prove it."

I barely have a chance to take a breath before Edward's mouth collides with mine. One of his hands remains in my hair while his other arm snakes itself around my waist and picks me up so our faces are level. I thread my fingers through his soft hair, refusing to let him pull away like he did last night.

Kissing Edward now, sober, is definitely better than it was last night. Maybe because now I know that the feelings I have for him aren't unrequited at all. Maybe because my senses aren't dulled by the alcohol.

Actually, it doesn't matter. Sober or not, it's still pretty damn incredible.

I feel like I'm floating, and it isn't until I feel the hard edge of the island counter against my ass that I realize Edward was walking forward. The arm that's around my back shifts until he's palming my backside, and I remove one of my own hands from his hair, placing it flat on the counter to hoist myself onto it.

Before setting me down completely, Edward's hand moves down my ass, down my thigh, and his fingers hook under my knee, pulling it up and hitching it tightly around his waist before it slooooowly moves back up and slips into the leg of my sleep shorts.

Needing him closer—even though I really don't think that's possible—my other leg tightens around his, my heel resting just above the back of his knee, and I pull him forward a step until he's tucked firmly between my thighs. The fingers of his right hand curl into the soft flesh of my ass beneath my shorts, pulling me forward, and I moan into his mouth when I feel a firm bulge behind his jeans.

Or maybe it's _just_ his jeans . . . Only one way to be certain, I suppose.

Having only been with Jake, I'm not overly experienced in sex or foreplay or anything else that might go along with it. I never initiated it, and I didn't really care if I got it one way or another. Of course, if I had felt half the things I am right now—the warmth that covers my body, the toe-curling, sensual tingle that's coursing through me entirely, the manic racing of my heart, and the deep pulsing between my legs that needs to be tended to—I might have been a little more excited by the idea.

It's intense and foreign to me. Plain and simple. And I want more.

I remove my hand from his hair and slip both arms between us, curving my back so I can keep kissing him—because I never want to stop; it's better than air—and undo the button on his jeans. He moves to pull his lips from mine, but I react instantly, one of my hands returning to his hair now that it's finished aiding and abetting the other's dastardly mission.

Thankfully, he doesn't resist the deepening of my kiss, his tongue gently massaging mine. I'll be honest; I never used to like kissing like this and avoided it entirely when I could. Jake was like a wild dog, salivating all over my mouth and chin.

But Edward? _Oh, god. _His lips are soft, the pressure in which they move with mine alternates between gentle and firm, which brings a delightful pulse to the surface of my own. Then there's his tongue . . . well, it's like he's teasing me, giving me just the smallest taste of him for seconds at a time before robbing me of the sensation entirely. It's maddening, but in the best possible way.

Confident that Edward isn't going to stop kissing me, I release my hold on his hair slightly while my other hand slowly lowers his zipper. He groans, sounding relieved, the minute his jeans are open and less restrictive against his growing arousal.

The hand that he's had tangled in my hair since we began kissing unweaves itself and moves down my neck. His thumb presses firm against the skin along my jaw, pushing my head back and breaking our kiss. While I don't want to stop kissing him, I'm panting pretty heavily and know I need to replenish my oxygen supply. His lips press down just below my jaw, following the hard trail his thumb is leaving down the length of my neck. The minute he reaches my collarbone, his hand leaves my body, but his mouth remains focused on the hollow of my throat—kissing, licking, nipping . . . basically driving me absolutely crazy with desire.

I move to protest the loss of his hand, but before I can, I feel the backs of his knuckles against my ribs as he works to undo my flannel top. He must have the most agile fingers, because it takes him seconds before his hand is hovering above my breast. I've still got my tank top on, but it's so thin that I can feel absolutely everything.

He's _barely_ touching me, and yet I've never felt so much pleasure. The palm of his hands ghosts over the peak of my breast, both of my nipples hardening at the barely-there sensation, and I thrust my chest forward in hopes of forcing his touch.

He chuckles against my neck, his warm breath against my skin causing an uprising of gooseflesh. "Easy," he whispers, tightening his hold on my ass and pulling me toward him again, giving me just a small tease of what my body so desperately wants.

I whimper and plead with him, but he continues to drive me wild with whatever devilish plot he's cooked up to prolong my pleasure. He doesn't give in no matter how much I tell him to, and I decide that I'll just have to convince him in another way.

I bring my feet up and hook them into the waist of his jeans and try to work them down. He lifts his face, his gaze burning into my own, and he shakes his head. "Bella . . ."

"It's okay," I tell him. "I want to."

"So do I," he assures me firmly. "But I won't have my way with you on our kitchen counter . . . yet."

_Sweet Jesus. _I pull his face back to mine and kiss him harder than before. When I press my body closer to his, his hand finally makes solid contact with my breast, and I moan breathlessly against his busy lips when he squeezes firmly.

"Please," I plead, a tremor working through my body when his fingers curl over the top of my shirt, preparing to pull it down.

I'm lost to everything but the two of us. All I smell is Edward's cologne. All I taste is the coffee he had to drink this morning. All I see is the green of his eyes. All I hear is our collective moans filling the kitchen. All I feel are his soft lips, his strong hands, his hard—

"Oh my!" My mother's shrill voice burns through my perfect little bubble like a meteor, forcing Edward and I to frantically scramble away from each other and cover any exposed parts; thankfully we hadn't gone as far as I was hoping to, so there wasn't a lot to be seen. "I'll, uh . . . we'll . . ."

_We_. I don't have to turn around to know what _that_ means—but I do, because apparently I'm masochistic.

Mom has turned around and is pushing my wide-eyed father from the kitchen. "We knocked," she's saying, probably to me. "No one answered. The door was unlocked. We're sorry."

I'm petrified. Embarrassed. _Horrified_ that they saw me in a less than innocent position. With Edward. My landlord. Who my father _used_ to like.

"I'm so sorry," I say, burying my face in my hands. "I knew they were coming over to take me to lunch. I didn't think . . . Oh, god."

Edward doesn't say anything, but I feel his warm hands wrap around my wrists and pull them down. "You keep doing that." I look up at him through my lashes, my eyebrows pulled together. "Apologizing," he clarifies.

I laugh dryly and drop my eyes to the floor. However, on their descent, I catch a glimpse of the top of his underwear and smirk. He must know what's caught my attention, because he reaches for his jeans and moves quickly to do them up.

"Ooooh no," I tell him, grabbing for his jeans and pulling them open again. I glance up at him once more before looping my index finger into the elastic waist of his underwear . . . his _pink_ underwear. With a giggle, I pull him back to me before doing his pants up for him.

Smiling sheepishly, he reaches out and returns the favour, slowly buttoning my flannel top. "While I would love to come up with some clever quip about why I kept these, anything I come up with only makes me sound completely head over heels for the girl that ruined them."

I inhale a shuddering breath; I want to kiss him again, but the hushed voices of my parents in the other room keep me from doing so. "Well," I tell him quietly, scooting to the edge of the counter and hopping down. "At some point, I'm going to want to see them." I blush, because it's not like me to say things like that.

"Bella?" my mother's voice calls out from the foyer. "Would Edward like to join us for lunch?"

I look up at him, and his eyes go wide. "I'll find out," I tell her. "Well, would you?"

He looks terribly uncertain. "You do realize that your father has guns, right?"

I laugh and back toward the doorway. "I do. But there's only a forty percent chance he's packing. Besides, it's my mother you should be afraid of." He still hasn't given me an answer one way or the other. "You're going to have to face them sooner or later, you know. You can either do it with me, or wait until my dad shows up here one day while I'm in class."

His tries to say something—probably that my dad would never do that—but then thinks better of it, and nods. "All right, I'll tag along."

Smiling, I back out of the room. "Great. I'll let them know on my way upstairs to change."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: So, Mom and Pop Swan finally got a taste of their own medicine, huh? :::singsong voice::: _Aaaaaaawkward!_**

**Other than them not going all the way—yet—am I forgiven for the awful cliffie in the last chapter?**

**Please review and let me know what you thought!**

**See you Monday!**

**xoxo**


	12. One Step Closer

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**Sorry for the delay! I know I said Monday, but I just wasn't happy with how the chapter ended and had to tweak it a little and re-send it to my amazing betas! Hope you all enjoy it! I'm half-finished with chapter 13, so it should update next Monday (I don't have time for two updates this week as I have FOUR cakes to bake/decorate this weekend :S) But it should be on time!**

**Okay, enough of that, let's see how breakfast is going, shall we?**

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><p><strong>Chapter 12. One Step Closer<strong>

"So," Mom says, turning around in the passenger seat of her SUV to look at Edward and me. This conversation can go one of several ways, and I really hope it's headed in the direction of food.

"Where did you want to go for lunch?"

I breathe a sigh of relief and smile. "Um, IHOP?" Mom gives me a very knowing smile; there's no hiding a hangover from her. Not ever.

We've just pulled off of our street, and no one says a thing. Edward is sitting behind my mom, and I'm behind my dad, both of us sitting as close to our doors as possible to avoid any accidental—or on purpose—touching that could get any one of Edward's appendages ripped off. I've only just begun to sample what he's got to offer, so there's no way I can risk anything bad happening now . . . or ever, really.

I'm about ninety-eight percent sure Edward is safe from bullets because there were no noticeable protuberances in Dad's civilian clothes when we walked out to the car. I would have asked to frisk him, but, well that would have made an already awkward situation about five million times worse.

Every once in a while, I'll look toward the front of the vehicle and catch my dad's reflection in the mirror; sometimes he's looking at me, other times he's looking at Edward. While he's not angry, I can tell he's not exactly pleased—which is ridiculous if you keep in mind just how many times I've walked in on them doing muchmore than Edward and I were.

Okay, so not _too _much more, but it was still more.

I begin to wonder if Edward played the football ticket card too soon. Maybe we should have waited.

We arrive at the restaurant and exit the vehicle. My fingers twitch to reach out and take Edward's hand since we're walking with less than a foot between us, but with Dad right behind us, it's probably not wise. Or safe. So, to control the urge, I tuck my hands into my jean pockets and carry on.

I know Dad can't be too angry with us, but I know he and Mom are going to start questioning us at some point. Things like the nature of our relationship are bound to come up, as well as how long we've been together. Mom's always been pretty open-minded about a lot of things, but if Dad hears that Edward and I hadn't even discussed becoming a couple and yet were caught getting down and dirty in the kitchen . . . suffice it to say he probably won't be too thrilled.

Our hostess seats us in a booth, Mom and I slide in on opposite sides of each other, and I look up at Edward, who I fully expect to join me. However, before he can, Dad slips in next to me, forcing Edward next to my mother.

So much for some stolen moments of hand-holding, finger-grazing, and maybe footsie under the table. Though, I suppose footsie isn't entirely out of the question, but with Edward sitting diagonally from me, I'd probably wind up touching my mom's foot, who would think it was my dad, and this just opens up a whole new can of awkward that I'm not even prepared to wrap my head around.

As I pick up my menu to look it over—even though I'm pretty sure I already know what I'm getting—Dad nudges me with his elbow. "Looking a little green around the gills there, Bells."

"Am I?" I look across the table at Edward, who shakes his head subtly and offers me a reassuring smile. While I'm sure he's just placating me, it does make me feel better.

"Mmmm," my dad hums, his tone telling me he knows more than he's letting on. It shouldn't surprise me, being as he's a cop and all. "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say you had one too many to drink last night." His eyebrow arches and he meets my apologetic stare. "IHOP, Bells? Come on, give your old man a little credit."

"Never could fool you," I quip, picking my menu back up and shooting a quick smirk Edward's way.

The table falls silent for a moment while we all decide what to eat before our server arrives. She's a chipper little thing, but I guarantee she makes decent tips because of it.

"Hi there," she greets. "I'm Maggie, and I'll be your server today. Can I get you all something to drink?"

We all order coffee, and my parents ask for a few more minutes with the menus. Since I know what I'm having already, I put my menu down and notice that Edward has done the same. "You know what you're having?" I ask him, drawing over-the-menu glances from my parents.

"I do," he replies with a smile and leans on the table. "And you?"

I nod. "Same thing I always have when I feel like this." He looks at me expectantly, so I continue, blushing because the sheer amount of food I'm about to consume rivals what I saw Emmett put away last week. "The International Crepe Passport." Edward looks amused—and somewhat impressed—by my choice. "And you? What are you having?"

"The, uh, Breakfast Sampler."

The server returns then with our coffee, and Mom and Dad are ready to order. Dad and Edward let Mom and me go first. After Mom orders her spinach and mushroom omelet, I order my meal, having decided on a banana crepe to go with it.

"So the strawberry-banana crepe?" Maggie asks, jotting our food down on her little pad of paper.

"No," Edward and I say in unison, drawing the undivided attention of both of my parents.

I'm fairly certain my heart skips a beat when our eyes connect and he corrects the order. "Just banana. No strawberries at all."

"Oh," Maggie says sweetly, looking at me. "I'm sure that won't be a problem."

Dad and Edward order next, and I find it kind of cute that they order the same thing.

The minute Maggie leaves to put our orders in, I look across the table at my mom—who's looking mighty smug and even a little thrilled. I know immediately that Edward speaking up about my breakfast order has brought their curiosity back to what they walked in on.

"So, things between the two of you seem to be going . . . well?" Mom inquires not-so-subtly.

Dad's posture noticeably shifts to Alpha-male mode, and I give him a light kick under the table. "Be nice," I tell him quietly.

"Always so quick to assume the worst, aren't you, Bells?"

I open my mouth to protest, but Edward clears his throat, and when I glance across at him, he's got an eyebrow arched. "You can't refute that," he challenges.

"No," I grumble, glaring at him playfully. "I suppose I can't." Turning back to address my mother's original question, I smile. "Things are fine."

"Fine?" she asks, sounding almost incredulous that I haven't opened up and told her that things were so much better than fine that, had she and Dad given me five—maybe ten—more minutes, I was pretty sure I could have convinced Edward that the kitchen counter could have been the perfect place to finish what we started. "Seems like things are a little better than _fine_."

I pick up my coffee and take a sip. I know I can't avoid having this conversation, but I need to find a way to have it in front of my _father_ without wanting the floor to open up and swallow me whole. As it is, my cheeks feel warm already, and my hands are trembling.

"Mr. and Mrs. Swan?" Edward interjects, surprising me a little because he didn't use their first names like he did at dinner. I can only assume that's because he's still feeling a little weird about this morning—and rightfully so. "I know that what you walked in on today was probably the last thing you expected, but I want to assure you both that I care very deeply for your daughter." His eyes find mine again, and I smile, wishing so badly that we weren't diagonal from each other so I could reach out and take his hand. "I would never do anything to hurt or disrespect her . . . or either one of you, for that matter."

"While I want to believe you," my father speaks up, "the simple fact remains that you've known each other all of two weeks. Things seem to have escalated rather quickly."

He's right. He usually is.

"I know, Dad." My agreeing with him seems to shock both Edward and my mother. "But can you tell me that you and Mom never gave into your urges? Because based on what I've seen—"

Dad's quick to clear his throat, but not before Edward has fully started to understand where I was headed with that comment. "I guess it just all kind of took me by surprise, is all."

Mom reaches across and pats the back of my dad's hand. "It took us both by surprise, dear. So, how long have the two of you been dating now? I mean it was just last week that you were telling me you didn't think there was anything you could do to—"

My eyebrows shoot up, and I give her a _very _pointed look. "Mom, please stop talking."

"That was me?" Edward smirks cockily. I swear his ego's growing by the second.

"Maybe," I tell him. "And this just sort of happened, Mom. Last night . . . this morning? I'm not entirely sure what day we're counting here."

Dad turns his head toward me. "So, you're not even technically dating?"

"Well, we haven't exactly labeled it yet, but we both know where we stand and what we want. We haven't really gotten the chance to talk about it, you know?" I know the minute I've said it that I shouldn't have. Dad's face is turning red, and I can see that vein in the middle of his forehead beginning to pulse. "That's not . . . that came out wrong. It's not like we've been too busy, you know, doing _that_ to talk." I'm growing more and more flustered with every attempt to fix this, so I just give up.

"Things have been pretty hectic for us," Edward jumps in, saving me from rambling further, should I decide to open my mouth again. "I just got back from Houston last night, Bella had a—" He stops himself mid-sentence, probably gathering that my father will likely have a conniption if he heard I went on a date with somebody _else_ last night. "Bella had previous plans with a group of people. I had actually hoped to talk to her about all of this last night over dinner, but I didn't want her to have to cancel."

While I'm more than thankful for his stepping in to rescue me, I shoot him a look that calls him a liar; he _did_ want me to cancel on Mike. And, truthfully, I really should have listened to him.

Maggie returns with our meals, and we stop talking while she places them in front of us. After thanking her, she turns and heads back toward the kitchen.

Deciding that this is as good a time as any to save Edward or me having to explain further before we actually get a chance to talk alone, I change the subject. "So, Dad, you excited about the game tomorrow?"

This seems to change his demeanor, and I feel like I can finally relax. "It should be fun . . . assuming my interrogating the two of you hasn't gotten my invite revoked."

"Don't be silly," I say, poking at the bananas on my crepe before taking a bite.

Everybody else follows my lead and digs into their brunch before Dad starts asking Edward about what he was doing in Houston.

"I was there signing a young baseball player who's fresh out of college," Edward explains. "He was being scouted by a few teams but had no representation, and the Diamondbacks are very interested in him. We had him signed by Thursday, and have begun the process of getting him a contract for next season."

This then starts a debate of the Mariners versus the Diamondbacks between my Washington-born father and a Phoenix-raised Edward while Mom and I talk about school and her job.

"I'll be happy when winter break gets here," I tell Mom. "I feel like I'm running on fumes."

"I tried to warn you, sweetheart," Mom tells me, her tone indicating that she's sympathetic to my plight and not quite saying, _I told you so_.

As brunch wears on, I begin feeling full a lot sooner than I was expecting. While I'm sure my hangover has something to do with my diminished appetite, I refuse to let more than half of my meal go to waste. After eating my entire crepe and about a third of everything else, I finally admit defeat and place my napkin on my plate. We don't leave right after our meal, instead choosing to stay for a few more cups of coffee and catch up.

"You know," Edward says when my mom starts talking about having us over for dinner in a week or two. "I was thinking of inviting my folks over for dinner next Sunday. Why don't the two of you join us?"

It's ridiculous how happy something as small as Edward inviting my parents to meet his parents makes me . . . wait. His parents? I'm going to meet his parents? In a _week?_

"That sounds lovely," Mom says to Edward. "Just let us know what time, and we'll be there."

My entire body feels a little warmer, especially my face and neck. I reach up to scratch a dull itch on the back of my neck as I listen to them talk about this little get-together. Edward's got it all planned out; he'll grill burgers outside, and if the weather cooperates, we can eat out on the patio. He says his mom always brings dessert since she runs a bakery.

With our plans for next Sunday finalized, we decide it's time to go. Dad and Edward have a mild debate over who will pay the bill, but ultimately Dad wins out, saying it was him and Mom who invited us out.

It must be hotter outside than I was expecting, because I begin to feel slightly uncomfortable as we walk through the parking lot—almost flushed—and there's a faint prickle running along my arms and neck. Once I'm buckled in and Dad's started the car, I roll my window down in hopes that the fresh air will help.

It does a little, but my skin still feels like it's crawling.

"Bella?" I turn to look at Edward. "Are you okay? You've been scratching at your neck since the restaurant."

Mom turns around in her seat, and Dad looks back at us through the rear-view mirror. "Oh? I hadn't realized. Yeah, I'm fine . . . I think. I must still be a little hung over." I move to scratch my neck again, but Edward grabs my hand and stops me.

He unbuckles his seatbelt with his other hand, scoots across the seat until he's sitting right next to me, and uses the backs of his fingers to sweep my hair behind my shoulder so he can look. The tips of his fingers trail across my skin, and I smile, remembering how his fingers felt trailing down my neck in the kitchen earlier.

"You look a little red," he tells me softly. "Like you're breaking out in a rash."

"It's probably from the heat," I assure him, bringing my hand up and laying it on his. "I'm sure it's nothing."

He shakes his head and holds my gaze. "It's not that hot outside, Bella."

Curious to see if he's right, I look at the digital temperature display mounted above the rear-view mirror and see that it's not as hot as I seem to think it is. Then I realize what probably happened. "My crepe." Edward looks at me curiously before he, too, draws the same conclusion as me. "I'll bet they accidentally put strawberries on it and Maggie corrected them. They probably didn't even replace the crepe, just the bananas."

"Do we need to stop somewhere, kiddo?" Dad asks.

I shake my head, pulling Edward's warm hand away from my neck and threading my fingers through his; it's not that I don't enjoy his touch, but the warmth of his hand is only making the itching worse. "No, I've got some antihistamines and some hydrocortisone cream in my washroom." I look out the window, feeling the breeze on my face and neck. "God, this is so embarrassing," I whisper to myself.

Edward pulls his hand free and places it on my thigh, giving me a gentle squeeze and redrawing my focus to him. "Hey, don't worry about it."

"Oh, I'm worried," I tell him softly, hoping my parents aren't eavesdropping. "You think this is how I wanted the afternoon to go?"

"We have all the time in the world," he assures me, running his hand back and forth over my thigh.

The gesture reawakens my desire for him, sending my pulse racing and my mind whirling. Before I let my growing craving for him take control, I lay my hand over his and stop it from moving before laying my head on his shoulder. "I'm going to need you to stop doing that," I whisper, tilting my head up and meeting his green eyes. "It's making it hard to concentrate."

"My apologies." He doesn't really _look_ apologetic, what with his sly smirk and mischievous eyes.

I settle back against him and look toward the front of the vehicle. When I catch my dad's eyes in the rearview mirror once more, he winks at me, and I give Edward's hand one more squeeze before turning back to look out the window.

We arrive home a short time later and say goodbye to my parents before heading inside. I have to laugh when Edward makes a point of locking the door before pulling me into his arms and kissing me softly.

I want nothing more than to pick up where we left off this morning, but the irritating itch that's covering my arms and neck is far too distracting. "Hey," I whisper, leaning my head back and looking him in the eye. "I really need to hop in the shower and put my lotion on. I'm sorry."

His eyes roam down, and he gently pushes my hair away from my neck again. His fingertips tickle the skin below my ear, and I shiver slightly. I desperately want this to be one of those moments between us where I get all weak-kneed and light–headed . . .

Oh, who am I kidding? Rash or not, Edward still has that effect on me.

Leaning in, he places a gentle kiss on my jaw, just below my ear, before running his finger faintly along the length of my neck. "It's really not so bad," he tells me, reaching for my right arm and pushing the sleeve of my shirt up to my elbow. "See?"

It takes a minute, but I'm finally able to tear my eyes away from the line of his jaw—where I'd been intently focused since the minute he started checking out my neck. I'm pleasantly surprised to see that he's right; the rash isn't _too_ bad. It's still worse than I'd prefer—because I'd prefer _no_ rash—but it's not quite as inflamed as it has been in the past.

"Go take care of yourself. I'll be down here when you finish up." He stands up straight, after giving me one final peck on the lips, and turns me toward the stairs.

"Okay. I'll be down in a bit."

Once upstairs, I close myself in my washroom and start the shower. I pull my shirt off and lean in toward the mirror to get a closer look at my neck. Thankfully, it's barely noticeable, which means I'll be able to walk around with it barely covered in order to help clear it up. If it had been any worse, there would have been little to no chance I'd leave my room for as long as it took.

As I strip down, I notice that the rash is mainly on my arms and neck with just a few very faint pink splotches on my chest. It's so minimal that I'm confident I should be able to clear it up within a few days.

I test the water to make sure it's not too hot, because the last thing I want to do is exacerbate the problem, and step inside, closing the glass door behind me. The cool water feels even better on my skin, so I pull my hair off my neck and let the water wash over it for a few minutes before I lather up.

After my shower, I pull on a tank top and my jean shorts before I take a couple of antihistamines and apply some cream to my arms and neck. I'm just finishing up and putting my lotion away when I realize that this day has done a total one-eighty since I woke up this morning.

Even though I had felt pretty miserable that I had potentially ruined my relationship with Edward, it was like we had actually opened a door to an entire world of possibilities. Then, when we stepped through that door together, everything else just fell into place. Sure, it took a minute to step around all of the crazy misconceptions we'd both formed about each other, but we eventually found our way.

And then I ate strawberry-tainted crepes.

"Stupid allergies," I mutter, turning off my bathroom light and heading downstairs. The minute my bare feet hit the cool tile at the foot of the stairs, I call out for Edward.

"I'm in the living room, Bella."

The TV's not on as I wander into the living room, and there's no music playing, either. It isn't until I enter the room completely and look down from behind the couch that I see he's laying on it. "What are you doing?"

"Contemplating a nap, actually," he replies, looking up at me with that crooked smirk.

"Oh yeah?" I inquire, leaning on the couch back and staring down at him.

He nods, raising his arm and offering me his hand. "Care to join me?"

I don't have to think about it long before I'm completely on board, because I'm still feeling pretty exhausted. "Now," I say, placing my hand in his, "by _nap_, do you actually mean sleep?"

Catching me completely off-guard, Edward sits up quickly and pulls me over the back of the couch until I'm lying on top of him, laughing. "How are you feeling?" he asks, running his hands over my upper arms soothingly.

"It's not so bad," I reply, pushing my wet hair back over my shoulder and overlapping my hands on his chest before resting my chin on them. "I'm just lucky it wasn't more than trace amounts. This should clear up in a couple of days."

"That's good." Edward's hands move down my ribs, his thumbs grazing the sides of my breasts, before they glide over my back and come to a full stop on my backside. The right side of his mouth quirks up, as does his eyebrow. "I should probably tell you that these shorts are just plain cruel." His fingers do a familiar little dance along the frayed edge of the denim, making me quiver.

"Oh?" I inquire, and he simply nods, his fingers still trailing along the back of my thigh. "Well, I can go change if they're going to pose a problem." I'm only teasing, but Edward reacts as though I might actually follow through.

His hands grip my ass firmly, trying to hold me in place, but only making me think about taking him on the couch right now. "Don't even think about it."

I place a soft kiss on his lips and sigh contentedly. "This is nice. Why didn't we see this for what it was earlier?"

Edward chuckles and brings a hand up to play with the length of my damp hair. "I'm kind of surprised you didn't, actually. Especially when I came to your parents' place for dinner. I was an absolute mess." He pauses, looking contemplative for a moment before smirking. "God, when you licked that whipped cream off your finger, I thought I was done for."

Blushing, I give Edward a little shrug. "Would it make you feel better if I admit that seeing you do the same thing almost made me pass out?" I pause briefly before continuing. "Why didn't you just say something?"

He sighs. "I wanted to—so many times—but you'd just gotten out of a relationship, and I didn't want to complicate our situation any more than I knew it would already be due to how I was starting to feel about you." He laughs lightly. "And then you kept talking about Emmett, and I just assumed . . . well, you already know what I thought.

"Look, I know I've gone about this all wrong," he continues. "But I'd like the chance to make things right."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I'd like to take you out on a date. You pick the night."

A date. Edward wants to take me on a real date.

"I don't have work on Tuesday night. We could do something then," I suggest, trying to contain an excited squeal that would only embarrass me.

Edward smiles so wide it makes the outer corners of his eyes crease. "Tuesday is perfect."

Even though I'm feeling pretty thrilled, my body chooses that moment to remind me just how worn out it still is, and I yawn. "Oh, sorry," I mumble through it.

"Don't be. You're still exhausted, and I promised you a nap." He strokes my hair, and the sensation of his fingers on my scalp lulls my eyes shut. I feel his lips on my forehead before he rolls us both over so we're lying on our sides, facing each other.

Even though the couch is more than wide enough for the two of us, I intertwine my legs with his and drape my arm over his waist to anchor me to him while we sleep. With his strong arms wrapped solidly around my upper body, I fall into the deepest sleep I've ever had.

After our nap, Edward and I spend the evening in. I'm feeling much better and have a ton of energy. Edward still wants me to take it easy and dotes on me by cooking dinner. After we eat, we cuddle on the couch and watch some television before I inform him that I have to go and do my homework.

"Actually, I've got some work to get done before we fly Jasper out in a few weeks to finalize his contract," Edward tells me as we climb the stairs together. "I'll be in the study if you need anything, okay?" Leaning down, he kisses me softly before we go our separate ways for the next few hours.

After clipping my hair up, I place my laptop and my books on the end of my bed and lie down on my stomach. I get so wrapped up in my schoolwork that I don't even realize the time until there's a knock at my door. Turning away from my paper, I see Edward step in. "Hey. You get all your work done?"

He nods. "I did. Jasper's flight is booked," he tells me, sitting on the end of my bed and staring at me. Then he looks around the room and frowns. "We should get you a desk."

I push myself up onto my knees and close my books and laptop. "Don't be silly. This is fine."

Edward refuses to accept that, though. "No, I'll talk to my mom tomorrow and see if she can find a desk that goes with the room."

"Edward—" The look in his eyes tells me that there's no arguing with him; his mind has been made up. "Okay," I concede, standing up so I can stretch. I clasp my hands together and hold them high above my head until I can feel the pull in my spine and back muscles.

Before I know it, Edward's hands have ensnared my hips and he's pulling me down onto the bed. My back is flat against the mattress while he lies on his side, the length of his body pressed against mine. That same look from this morning is in his eyes, and it thrills me to my very core. Slowly, I raise my hand and run it along his rugged jaw, twisting my fingers into his soft hair, pulling him forward as I lift my head off my mattress to kiss him.

His lips move with mine, slow but firm, and his left hand is placed firmly on my hip. I'm again lost to how amazing it feels to be kissing Edward, and I moan against his lips. His fingers move slightly, and soon I feel their warmth on a sliver of flesh on my abdomen.

I shift my body toward him, prepared to straddle him and take control—something I've never done before—when his lips stop moving and he pushes himself up on his arm to look down at me. He speaks in a very strained and raspy voice that I've heard on a couple of occasions. "I'm, uh, going to say goodnight before we get too carried away here," he tells me, and my elation disappears. He must be able to see it in my eyes, because he reaches out and runs the backs of his fingers along the side of my cheek. "It's not that I don't want to—I do—but I want us to build up to that."

"Okay," I say quietly. "We'll wait." While a huge part of me really doesn't want to wait, there is a smaller part that finds it rather romantic that he wants to build on our new relationship before taking that next step. Having a sturdy foundation will make our connection run deeper, and when we finally decide to take that final step, I know it will be even more special because we took all of that time.

After one more kiss—one that I struggle with fighting the urge to deepen—Edward backs out of my room and heads across the hall to his. "Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning." I head to my dresser and grab some pajamas before going to my bathroom to change.

It's the first night I fall asleep with my bedroom door open, and from my spot on my bed, I can see Edward has done the same. It's possible he leaves it open every night, but I can't be sure. The way his room is set up, I can only see the foot of his bed, but I smile when I see the blankets shift as he crawls beneath them.

I remain awake for a while longer, my afternoon nap clearly having affected my sleep schedule, and stare into Edward's dark bedroom. I start to fantasize about what it might be like to slip across the hall and wake him up with a kiss. I bet it would be pretty great. While I would like nothing more than to do this, I decide to wait until we've reached that point in our relationship.

When I wake the next morning, I hear the telltale splash that signals Edward's morning swim. I bolt out of bed because I'd hate to miss my morning routine two days in a row, especially since I had been without it for a few days while he was in Houston. What a bleak few mornings those were.

I don't watch for long, because I want to go and make him breakfast as a way to thank him for everything yesterday. He really went above and beyond to make sure I was feeling okay. So, after getting my fix, I go to my ensuite and wash up. I tie my hair back and inspect my rash, fortunately seeing that it's already clearing up; the bigger splotches are mostly gone, and some small, upraised pink spots remain. It's a relief.

I take a couple more antihistamines and rub more cream on my neck and arms before washing my hands and brushing my teeth. Ready to start my day, I put my toothbrush back in its holder and head down to the kitchen to start breakfast.

I dig through the fridge and pantry for a few minutes before ultimately deciding on pancakes. Once I've gathered all of the ingredients, I put a frying pan on the stovetop to warm while I start mixing the batter. I add a dash of cinnamon to them, because my mom always does, and pour the first two onto the pan.

While the pancakes cook, I look to my left and out the window to see Edward still swimming; I like that I can get my fix from here too. I turn back to breakfast just in time to flip them, and grab a cup of coffee while I wait for that side to cook as well.

The sliding door opens as I pour the next couple of pancakes into the pan, and I turn to see Edward walking in, drying his hair in his big fluffy towel. I may get a little distracted by the beads of water that are dripping from the ends of his hair and onto his shoulders. Of course, then they roll down his toned body in thin rivulets until they meet that sexy v-shaped muscle and disappear with it behind his trunks.

"That smells amazing," he says, coming up behind me. "Cinnamon?"

"Yup. Mom makes them that way," I explain, turning back to the pancakes.

Edward's left hand comes to rest on my hip while the other trails over my neck and shoulder. "I can't believe how much better this looks today." I shiver when his hand continues down my arm and ensnares the other hip, and my hand clenches the spatula when his lips touch down just below my ear. "How was your sleep?" he asks in a gravelly voice, his warm breath fanning over my entire neck and giving me goosebumps.

I sigh, letting my head fall to the side to allow him better access. "Lonely. Yours?"

He kisses me again, just below the last spot. "Same," he admits, turning me around to face him. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to fall asleep, knowing you are just across the hall?" His hands are now flat on my back, but his fingers are teasing the hemline of my shirt before they slip under.

My mind goes a bit foggy as his fingers stroke the skin of my lower back, and I clear my throat. "I think I have a basic understanding about how hard it might have been." It doesn't dawn on me—what I've said, and moreover, how he took it—until Edward smirks and his eyebrow arches suggestively. This is all it takes for me to push through the lusty haze. "You're filthy," I tease, poking his wet, naked chest. "That's _not_ what I meant." With a laugh, I turn to flip the pancakes.

Edward chuckles, resting his chin on my shoulder so he can watch me. "How long do I have until breakfast, beautiful?"

It's the first time he's called me by anything other than my name, and I have to admit, it makes me a little weak-kneed. "Mmm," I hum. "About fifteen minutes."

"Okay, I'm going to go and hop in the shower," he informs me, kissing me softly before heading toward the door. "I'll be right down."

"Sounds good."

True to his word, Edward returns fresh from his shower within the fifteen-minute timeframe I gave him, dressed in dark jeans and a Cardinals jersey. He looks pretty damn delicious, and I almost forget about breakfast entirely.

Snapping out of it as Edward opens the fridge and reaches for the OJ and syrup, I pull the last two pancakes from the pan and plate them while he takes his seat. Smiling, I place his plate in front of him and sit down. "What time is the game today?" I ask, laying my napkin on my lap.

"One," he replies, pouring syrup on his pancakes. "Your parents will meet us there between twelve and twelve-thirty."

I laugh. "I bet my dad's been up for hours. He's probably just stoked for today."

Edward takes his first bite, and I wait to see what he thinks. His eyes close, and he moans while he chews. It probably shouldn't, but his reaction to my cooking has a very visceral effect on me, and I'm right back to wading through a fog of lust. "This is amazing."

"Thanks," I reply softly, biting my lip and turning to my own breakfast and trying to think of a topic of conversation that can help distract me. I decide to ask about Jasper's trip. It turns out that Edward wants to show Jasper the area, maybe invite him over for dinner.

"That could be fun," I tell him. Then I remember how Alice was drooling over his picture the other day, and I smile. "Alice will be excited to hear he might be moving to the area if he signs with the Diamondbacks."

Edward laughs. "Well, let's not overwhelm the poor guy. And if you have any ideas on some fun things we could do, feel free to suggest them."

"Fun?" I question, looking at him with an arched eyebrow. "You know who you're talking to, right? I'm the polar opposite of fun, remember?"

"Bella, please," he scoffs. "I may have only met you two weeks ago, but I can tell you know how to have fun."

Smiling, I reach over and pat his jean-clad knee. "You're so adorable when you think you're right." He chuckles. "I'll try to think of something. Maybe tell me a bit about him."

"Well, he's fresh out of college—but you already knew that. His dad served in the army, and up until about two years ago, he thought he wanted to enlist." Edward goes on to tell me what he knows about Jasper, and I try to think of what we could do before it suddenly comes to me.

"Paintballing," I tell him. "You should go paintballing."

"You want me to take my baseball-playing client _paintballing_?" he asks.

I nod excitedly; it's been forever since I've been, and I kind of hope he'll invite me. "Yeah. It'll be fun! My dad knows a great place; we used to go all the time when I was younger."

"You," Edward starts, "used to go paintballing with your dad?"

"Sure," I tell him. "Come on, it'll be fun . . . and that's what you said you wanted."

Edward thinks about my suggestion for a moment before finally nodding. "All right. I'll talk to Em and see what he thinks, but something tells me he'll be all over it." He pauses briefly. "You'll join us, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it," I tell him, standing up and grabbing our empty plates. "Who knows, maybe I can teach you a thing or two."

"Oh, I bet you can," Edward replies cheekily from his seat.

Placing the plates in the sink and turning it on, I look back over my shoulder. "Behave yourself."

Edward leans forward on the counter and shrugs. "Doubtful."

Once the dishes are done, and the kitchen is clean, I excuse myself to go and get dressed so we can head out for the game soon. I'm actually pretty psyched about this; it's the first football game I've ever been to.

"Dress a little warmer," Edward calls after me. "It's not an open arena, but you might still get a little chilly since it's supposed to be a bit cooler today."

"Thanks." Knowing this, I decide on a pair of light blue jeans, a white long-sleeved t-shirt, and my black Chucks.

Edward and I kill the next couple of hours that morning doing a bit of house cleaning before taking a walk around the neighbourhood. By the time we arrive back at the house, it's time to head to the game. The drive to the stadium is maybe twenty minutes, and we're early enough that we find decent parking right away. Edward rushes around to my door while I unbuckle my seatbelt and opens it for me, making me smile.

I place my hand in his outstretched one and let him help me out. "Thanks."

"Bella!"

I turn around to see Mom and Dad walking across the lot toward us, and wave. "Hey! How was your morning?" I hug them both before we walk together toward the entrance.

"Your dad's been pretty excited all morning. He was up before dawn," Mom teases, nudging my dad with her elbow.

"Give a guy a break," Dad grumbles good-naturedly. "You'd be just as excited if this was Cirque du Soleil, Nee."

Mom loops her arm through my dad's and leans in to kiss his cheek. They talk amongst themselves, nuzzling noses and whatnot while we walk, so I stop paying attention. Instead, I take Edward's hand and lace our fingers together, leaning on his shoulder as we pass through the doors.

"They sure are passionate," Edward says, reaching into his back pocket for the tickets before handing them over to be scanned.

"Yup," I agree, trying not to think about their . . . _passion_. "It's great, because I know they're incredibly happy, but you have to be careful because they go from zero to kinky in seconds." Edward laughs loudly. "You laugh now, but you can't un-see the things I've been subjected to."

"Should we grab a bite to eat before we find our seats?" Dad suggests.

We all decide that's a good idea and head toward the concession. My parents stand in front of us, Mom's arm still looped through Dad's, and wait their turn. I'm looking up at the menu, trying to decide what I feel like having, when I feel Edward's body press up against my back. His arms wrap around my body, and he rests his chin on my shoulder, kissing my cheek before reading the menu boards too.

"I don't know what I want," I confess. "What's good?"

"I'm a fan of the hotdogs," he responds.

"Yeah?" He nods against my shoulder. "Okay then."

Mom and Dad step away from the concession with their food; Mom opted for a slice of pizza, and Dad got a hamburger. When they turn around and see Edward's arms wrapped around me as we wait in line, they smile—yes, even Dad.

Edward must have noticed too, because he gives me a gentle squeeze and kisses my cheek again before we step up to the cashier and order. We each get a hotdog and decide to share a soft drink. I flinch when I see the price of our food, but Edward doesn't, paying for it all with a smile before picking up our cardboard tray and leading the way to our seats.

There are already tons of people in their seats, and Dad seems like he's losing his mind as Edward leads us down the aisle. I can't understand why; everything he says makes absolutely no sense to me because I don't know a damn thing about football.

"You didn't say the tickets were on the fifty-yard line, Edward," he says.

Chuckling, Edward leads us down a row that's about thirty rows back from the front one. "I had to keep a little mystery between us, Charlie."

The game is set to start in less than a half-hour, and the crowd is simply buzzing. Looking around, I'm kind of astounded by the sheer number of football jerseys in the stadium. Makes me kind of want one.

"How's your hotdog?" Edward asks, leaning in so I can hear him over the steady hum of the growing crowd.

I'm just swallowing my third bite, so I cover my mouth and nod. "Really good, actually."

While we finish eating, Dad and Edward start talking football, and Mom and I try to keep up. I'm picking up bits and pieces—touchdowns, kickoffs, four downs—but I'm still feeling beyond lost. I mean, I understand some of it, but until I see it happening in front of me, I don't know that I'll fully understand it. And even then I know I'll have questions.

"Hey," I say, placing my hand on Edward's knee. "I'll be right back, okay?"

He looks confused, standing when I stand and placing a hand on my waist. "Where are you going? Do you want me to come with you?"

I laugh, pressing my palm to his chest. "No, I'll be okay. Just relax. I'll be right back. If I get lost, I'll text you to come find me."

Nodding, he leans in to give me a kiss and then lets me pass by him. On my way, I let my parents know I'll be back and then head back out of the seating area. I'm not sure where I have to go exactly, but there's enough people littering the area that I should be able to get directions.

I stop the first couple I see. "Hey, sorry to bother you, but do you know where I can go to buy a jersey?"

They gladly point me in the right direction, and I try to pay attention as I make my way there so I can easily find my way back. Thankfully, it's not too far from where I came from, so I shouldn't have too much trouble.

When I reach the front of the line, I see that they have two different styles: one that's mostly red, and another that's mostly white with red sleeves. I mull it over for a couple of minutes before deciding on the white one. I thank the salesperson for basically robbing me blind, and then take my new jersey to the washroom so I can put it on.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I pull it out to see that it's Edward.

_Kickoff's about to start. Where are you?_

I tap out a quick reply, telling him I'm on my way, and hit send. I quickly use the facilities, wash my hands, and then head back to my seat. I find the section easily enough and smile wide when Edward's eyes pop open upon seeing me.

"Aw, Bells, really?" Dad groans, clearly not satisfied with where my loyalties lie.

"Sorry, Pop," I apologize, stepping around them to get to my seat and struggling with my balance along the way.

Edward holds out his hand for me, and I take it to keep from falling into the row of people in front of us. Before letting me go, though, Edward pulls me to him, his hand running over the fabric of my new shirt. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"You like?"

I hear a familiar low growl coming from him, and it excites me. "Let's just say I'm going to have a very difficult time concentrating on the game."

Loving that he admits to the effect I have on him, I step up onto my tiptoes and kiss him before we take our seats. Once we're settled, Edward's hand finds a home on my thigh as we wait for everything to begin. We rise from our seats when it's time for the National Anthem.

The game starts, and I have to admit, it's pretty exciting. While I don't understand everything that's going on, Edward is doing a really good job at explaining things to me in a way I can understand. Dad is trying to ruffle Edward's feathers the entire game, especially when the Seahawks score a touchdown that puts them ahead of the Cardinals.

The majority of the crowd is not happy about this, and I find myself momentarily worried. It's especially worrying when halftime rolls around and the Cardinals are still down by seven. Since there's nothing really going on, Mom and Dad excuse themselves, leaving Edward and me alone for a bit.

"Are you having fun?" Edward asks.

I nod emphatically. "I really am. It's a little confusing, but I think I understand the basics." I lean forward in my seat, taking Edward's hand and lacing my fingers with his. "Thanks for taking me and my parents. It's really great, and Dad's having a blast."

He pulls my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. "I couldn't imagine being here with anyone else, Bella."

I giggle, leaning closer to him. "Well, that's good, because I wouldn't go to a football game with just anyone."

Mom and Dad return from wherever they snuck off to—honestly, it's best for my sanity if I don't even ask—and it looks like the game is about to get back underway. The second half of the game is interesting. The teams both seem to be doing well, but, much to Edward's dismay, the Seahawks win the game. He's a good sport, though, listening to Charlie relay the winning touchdown as we walk through the parking lot.

We stop at my mom's SUV, and my dad turns to us. "Thanks for inviting us along, Edward."

"Anytime, Charlie. I'm glad the two of you had a good time." He shakes Dad's hand and then turns to my mom to do the same. "Renee, we'll let you know about dinner?"

Mom pushes his hand away and pulls him in for a hug instead. "Sounds good. You two have a good night, okay?"

"We will, Mom," I tell her, hugging her and my dad next before telling them I'd talk to them later in the week. They climb into their vehicle, and Edward and I head for his car so we can head for home after what I can only describe as one of my top five favourite days.

So far.

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><p><strong>AN2: So, what did you all think of brunch? The game?**

**So, no sexin' again due to an allergic reaction. As someone with a fruit allergy (oranges give me hives, which blows because they're my FAVE!), I can tell you that it's no picnic. **

**This chapter was more about them talking a little bit more as they did more smooching than talking in the last chapter :-P It's important for them to communicate about everything :)**

**Fear not, dear readers, things are about to heat up ;-) In just a few days' time, actually . . .**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	13. Staking Claim

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**So, thanks to you guys, Rm w/a Vu was named one of the top five Fics of the Week over on The Lemonade Stand! Thanks to all who voted. The review by EvilNat is now up on the site :)**

**Sorry for the late review again. I've had a wee bit of unexpected stress due to my stepdaughter ringing up a $700 cell phone bill. **

**Yeah. I know. **

**Anyway . . .**

**To all the reviewers, thanks so much for all your continued words of wisdom and support! I read and appreciate EVERY single one, even if I haven't been replying to them like I used to! I've been so busy trying to get the chapters out weekly as well as working non-stop :) I love you all *huggles***

**Once again, I thank my awesome betas. They are awesome at catching any missed commas, and giving me advice on bits and pieces I'm not too sure of :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 13. Staking Claim <strong>

After a spectacular weekend with Edward and my parents, waking up on Monday morning seems kind of depressing. It's almost like the weekend was a wonderful dream, and now I'm being thrust back into reality.

Feeling less than enthused to start my day, I turn my alarm clock off, crawl out of bed, and head to my bathroom to get ready. As I finish up and head back into my room, I pull the hem of my oversized sweater down to cover my shorts, and the neckline falls down, exposing my shoulder. I expect to smell breakfast cooking as I hit the hall, but I'm shocked to see that Edward is still in bed. Fast asleep.

Not sure yet if I enjoy this view more than him swimming, I lean against his door frame, cross my arms, and watch him for a minute. He appears deep in sleep still as I let my eyes roam over his peaceful face. His hair is even more messy than usual, but instead of wanting to run my fingers through it to tame it, I want to make it worse.

The minute I notice his breathing pattern change when he shifts to roll over, I back away from his room and proceed downstairs to make coffee and start breakfast. I find the kitchen a little quiet, so I flip the radio on before digging through the fridge for the ingredients to make omelettes.

Dancing to the music, I crack the eggs into the bowl and whisk them before pouring them into my oiled frying pan. When I notice the top is cooked, I sprinkle some shredded cheddar on it and fold it over.

"Now this is a sight I could get used to in the mornings," Edward says from behind me, making me both scream and jump. He chuckles. "Sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you."

Laughing at myself, I remove the first omelette and pour the second one into the pan. "No, that's okay. I either need to learn to not be so jumpy, or tie a bell around your neck."

Edward smiles, crosses the room until he's standing right next to me, and tugs at the hem of my sweater. "You know, I'm starting to think you're running around here in next to nothing just to drive me crazy," he says, grazing my bare thigh with the backs of his long fingers.

"And I'm starting to think you do _that_"—I nod my head in the direction of his hand on my leg—"to drive _me_ crazy."

His hand moves up a little farther, above the fabric of my shorts until he's fingering the waistline of them. My abdomen quivers when his knuckle grazes the ticklish skin there as he dips a finger in and pulls me to him. My chest is pressed so firmly to his that he can probably feel my heart beating. He holds my gaze, his eyes blazing, and I sigh when our lips barely touch.

"Edward, our breakfast," I whisper, raising my free hand and teasing the hairs at the nape of his neck. Though, if I'm being entirely honest, the longer we stay like this, the more focused I am on how his firm body feels when it's pressed so close to mine than the stupid eggs.

Breakfast be damned.

He briefly presses his lips to mine before releasing my shorts. "You're right."

Regretting saying anything at all, I toss the spatula on the counter and grab his arms before he's out of reach. "Nonononono," I tell him, tugging him back to me and shaking my head. "I'm wrong. So wrong."

Chuckling, Edward kisses my forehead and moves around me to pour a cup of coffee. "No, you're not. I'd hate for you to be late for school because I wouldn't let you leave the house."

I pick up the discarded spatula, add cheese to the omelette, and fold it over. "Mmmhmm. I think you're just being a bit of a tease," I accuse playfully. "Building the anticipation between us." I turn and point the spatula at him. "I'm on to you, Cullen."

He quirks a brow and gives me that devilish half-smirk. "Not yet."

I suddenly feel very flushed and possibly like my legs might give out beneath me, but I refuse to let him see this. "Funny." After dishing up the second omelette, I pick up both plates and head for the island. "Breakfast is ready."

Over breakfast, I ask Edward if he's got a busy day. Apparently he doesn't have to go into the office until this afternoon, so after I leave, he plans to go for his swim. "I'd have preferred to have gone while you were still home." I eye him curiously. "It's just I hate that I've robbed you of your little routine."

My jaw drops. I'm stunned. "I . . . uh . . . I have no idea what you're talking about," I stammer, poking my eggs with my fork, refusing to meet his smug stare.

"Yeah, that almost sounded believable."

I set my fork down and turn to him. I'm not going to try and deny that I've been watching him, because he knows just as well as I do that I'm guilty, but his accusation has me curious about something. "So, you've seen me up there, and yet you still thought I was into Emmett?"

"I wasn't certain what you were doing up there, to be honest . . . you very well could have been enjoying the desert view and fresh morning air," he admits, smirking crookedly at me. "It wasn't until we finally got everything out in the open that I finally put two and two together."

Laughing, I shake my head. "If only the two of us could have mastered basic math a week ago before jumping to all of the wrong conclusions."

Before I know what's happening, Edward's pulling my chair toward him, the feet scraping loudly against the tile. His warm hands are on my thighs, moving down to my knees where he curls his fingers and lifts my legs, resting them on his own. It's kind of awkward, but I don't really mind since I'm only inches away from straddling him—which must be his newest form of torture.

"Oh, I don't know." A tingle begins to work its way up my legs as his hands move up and down my thighs, occasionally dipping _just _beneath the hem of my shorts before resurfacing. There's a really good chance that my heart is going to give out at the rate it's beating. "I think things might be better this way," he says, his voice low and seductive, increasing my desire for him exponentially. "All of those nights spent wondering kind of . . . intensified everything. Don't you think?"

I nod once. It's not the most fluid movement given my brain is more focused on the fact that Edward's hands are still running up and down my legs. Warmth spreads through my body, starting where his hands are touching me and moving all throughout until it settles in the pit of my belly, igniting a flourish of butterfly activity. No one has ever made me feel half as alive as Edward, and if he's able to elicit this kind of response from me with only his hands . . . well, imagine the possibilities.

I lean in to press my lips to his, but when they're a hairsbreadth away, he whispers, "You're going to be late."

I move my head back and forth, allowing my lips to lightly brush his. "You're doing it again," I tell him softly. "Being a tease."

He refuses to acknowledge my accusation with anything more than a smirk. "You should go get dressed; I'll clean up."

"All right. But this isn't finished," I warn, leaning in and pecking his lips before hopping off my chair.

After quickly dressing, I grab my truck keys off of my dresser and my book bag off the floor as I make my way out of my room. By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, Edward is there, holding a travel mug out for me.

"For you, beautiful," he says, pulling me into his arms and kissing me a little harder than he did earlier. But only a little. "Have a good day."

"Mmm," I hum, brushing my nose over his. "You too."

Inhaling deeply, Edward groans. "Okay, you should go before I force you to play hooky with me all day."

"I don't know," I whisper, my eyes moving back and forth between his and watching conflict spark in them. "That actually sounds like a lot more fun."

"Go on," he says, his eyes showing just how much he's struggling with letting me go. "I'll see you when you get home from work."

"'Kay." Walking out that door isn't easy; it's almost like it's the last step to accepting that my fantastic weekend really is over.

With a depressing sigh, I climb up into the cab of my truck and buckle up. When I slip the key into the ignition and turn it, the engine clicks a few times, so I pump the clutch repeatedly to force it to turn over. Nothing. "Come on," I grumble, turning the key again. "Don't do this to me." I repeat this process several times, only to get the same results. Abso-freakin-lutely nothing.

Now I'm not just sad that my weekend is over, I'm pissed off that my week is starting off so crappy. I unbuckle my seatbelt, angrily flinging it back against the window, grab my bag as I throw my door open, and storm back into the house.

Edward is just coming down the stairs in his trunks, and for a brief moment I forget all about my stupid truck, because he's half-naked and halfway between our bedrooms and me.

Then he has to ask the question that reminds me why I was upset. "What's wrong?"

"My stupid truck won't turn over." I grab my phone and start flipping through my contacts to find a cab company.

"Who are you phoning?"

"A cab. I don't have time to take a bus; I'm going to be late as it is now."

I've just found the number I need when Edward's hand appears over mine, blocking the screen to my phone. "I'll give you a ride."

It's sweet of him to offer, but I feel guilty that I'm robbing him of his morning off. "No, it's fine. I don't want you to have to give up your morning," I tell him. "I've got some cash. It's fine."

"Bella, I'm not going to make you take a taxi when I can go get dressed and give you a ride." He sounds resolute, so I just nod. A smile spreads across his face as he lets go of my hand, and he rushes back upstairs, re-emerging about two minutes later fully dressed.

"Thanks," I say as he holds the door open for me, closing and locking it once we're outside. "For the ride."

"Anytime, Bella." He opens my car door for me and shuts it once my legs are safely inside before running around and climbing in next to me. "I'll have Rose come over and take a look at your truck this afternoon. She's been chomping at the bit to get under that hood since she saw it in front of the house last week."

Hearing that Rosalie is somewhat of a car-lover is kind of surprising; she never really struck me as the type. "Rosalie?"

"Oh yeah, she's big into cars. She's restored a few older models over the years and sold them for a hefty profit," he explains as we pull out of the driveway. "She's good. Your truck will be in good hands."

"Only if she's not busy. I'd hate for her to be wasting her time on my piece of crap truck."

Edward laughs. "She will not see it as a waste of time. Believe me."

We arrive on campus a little while later, and Edward parks near the doors and hops out while I struggle to untangle the straps of my bag from around my ankles. How it happened, I have no idea; I'm just glad I noticed it _before _trying to get out of the car.

My door opens as I free my right ankle, and Edward is holding out his hand for me. One look around at the students who've stopped to see what's going on forces my cheeks to warm. But it doesn't stop me from taking his hand. Nothing ever would.

"Thanks again for the ride." Edward closes my door and pulls me closer, the warmth of his body making my entire being hum. "I'll, uh, find a ride to work, and I bet Kate can drive me home afterward."

It's like he doesn't hear me. "What time is your last class over?"

"Three. But Edward—"

"I'll be here at three and drive you to work," he says, not letting me finish.

I shake my head. "No, Edward. It's out of your way."

"Not really. I've got meetings nearby this afternoon. I'll see you at three." He leans down to give me a chaste kiss and then straightens up. "Have a good day."

"You, too."

I'm just walking away, my fingers sliding along the palm of his hand until only our fingertips are touching. Before we lose connection, though, his hand reclaims mine, and he pulls me back to him. Our chests collide, expelling all the air between our bodies and my book bag falls heavily to my side while he's still got a hold of my other hand behind my back, our fingers now woven together. There's a familiar spark in his eyes, and this excites me, making me forget all about the people milling around us.

"You forgot something," he tells me in that low, gravelly voice that makes all of my senses numb to anything but him. His other hand comes up to cradle my face, and he lowers his lips to mine.

I don't mean to, but the minute he kisses me, I whimper, drop my bag the last few inches to the ground, and bring that hand up to lie on his chest right above his pounding heart. His thumb moves slowly over my cheekbone, and this causes the fine hairs all over my body to stand on end. Pushing up on the tips of my toes, I curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close as he takes my bottom lip between his and traces it with his tongue.

There's nothing in this world I enjoy more than being kissed by Edward. At least, not yet, anyway.

Apparently I'm no longer in control of anything I do whenever Edward's lips are on mine, because it's Edward who ends our kiss, pressing his forehead to mine and smiling.

I close my eyes as I pant breathlessly and try to calm my racing heart. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

"Just proving a point," is all he says.

My eyes snap open, and I shake my head. "And what point is that?"

Instead of answering me right away, Edward's head lifts away from mine and his eyes drift off to focus on something behind me. Slowly, I turn my head to follow his gaze and find Jake standing several yards away. "Oh, I see." I smile. "He looks a little upset."

"Good," Edward responds, tightening his hand around mine gently and drawing my eyes back to his. "Okay, you should head to class. I'll see you in a few hours, beautiful."

My heart flutters each and every time he calls me that—which is kind of silly, considering it's kind of my name. I mean, technically, everyone calls me that.

Edward releases my hand and bends down to pick my discarded bag up for me. I don't head right inside, choosing to wait until Edward's car is out of sight. When it is, I turn around and come face to face with Jake.

Nothing he might have to say interests me, and I sure as hell don't want him to sour my once-again good mood, so I side-step around him and proceed toward the building. He's clearly dense, because he doesn't seem to take the glaringly obvious hint, instead taking it as an invitation to follow me.

"You know, Jake, I could have you charged with stalking," I threaten. "I'm pretty sure my father wouldn't even bat an eye."

He laughs, apparently mistaking what I've said for a joke. Edward's right; he's a twit. "You know, you have a lot of nerve, Bella," he tells me. "You get mad at me for screwing Leah, when you were stepping out on your sugar daddy with Newton on Saturday night."

His accusation stops me dead in my tracks, right in the middle of the hall. I turn to face him, glaring daggers that I hope to hell will maim him beyond recognition. When it doesn't work, I contemplate thrusting my knee into his groin and dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I tell him venomously. "And even if you did, what you have to say means exactly jack-shit to me anymore, Jake."

"So, you didn't leave the party the other night with Newton all over you?" he demands, sounding somewhat jealous. "Because that's what a few people have been saying. I bet your sugar daddy—"

"Would you grow the hell up and stop calling him that?" I demand, growing more and more annoyed the longer I stick around to listen to his inane prattle. "Edward and I are together. You were right; we weren't the day his fist first met your face, but we are now, so you need to just back the hell off. This—whatever the hell we had—is over."

Not wanting to hear another word, I turn on my heel and begin to walk away when Jake calls after me. "I don't get it; what does he have that I don't have?"

I refuse to stop, instead turning and walking a few slow steps backward as I shrug. "You mean, besides basic respect for our relationship?" Jake remains quiet, and I smirk cheekily. "Me."

He seems a little stunned by my response, and this gives me an immense feeling of satisfaction. With that as my final word, I turn back around and rush through the thinning crowd of students so I can make my first class without being chewed out by my professor. Thankfully, I slip in without notice and find my seat.

I'm just digging out my books and setting everything up when I feel an arm brush against mine, and a familiar voice that immediately makes me groan with displeasure.

"Hey," Mike says quietly.

"What's up, Mike?" I say, trying to remain civil. I turn around and meet his eyes, immediately seeing something I didn't expect: shame.

He sighs, and it's a very miserable sound. "Look, I would totally understand if you never wanted to talk to me again," he begins. "But I just wanted to apologize for the other night. I know it's no excuse, but I'd had a lot to drink, and I acted like an asshole."

Offering him a smile, I shrug. "I appreciate the apology, Mike. Thank you."

This seems to relax him quite a bit, and he settles back into his seat. "So, I was wondering if I could make it up to you. Maybe take you out for coffee sometime?"

Even if I wasn't with Edward now, I likely wouldn't be interested in giving Mike a second chance. While I do feel his apology is sincere, I'm not too convinced that deep down he's not that guy I saw a glimpse of the other night.

"Um, while that sounds . . . good, I'm actually just not, um, there . . . with you, you know?" I try to keep my rejection as polite as possible, because I don't need a sober repeat of Friday night.

Thankfully, he seems to understand. "Sure. No, I get it. Sorry again." He gets up and leaves, heading for his seat a few rows back.

The lecture the professor is giving does little to hold my interest, and I let my thoughts drift back to Edward. I grab a few key points here and there and jot them down, but for the most part, I'm remembering how much fun we had this weekend. Thankfully, the class goes by pretty fast, and when I exit the room afterward, I see Alice waiting across the hall.

"Hey," I say, crossing the hall toward her. "How was the weekend with your parents?"

"Pretty good!" she exclaims as we continue walking. "And you? How was the big date?"

While I know it's only been a couple of days since I saw her last, it feels like so much has happened in such a short span of time—which, I guess, technically, it has. "Uh, actually, not good. But, um, things are definitely looking up."

It's obvious that Alice is confused, so I elaborate a little further for her. She seems genuinely stunned that Mike behaved the way he did, and for a minute, it looks like she wants to hunt him down and castrate him. When I tell her that he did apologize, she calms down. But only a little. She's a good friend.

"So, are you going to take him up on his coffee invitation?" Alice asks.

I shake my head. "I don't think that would be a very good idea . . . I'm kind of seeing someone."

Alice stops walking, causing a bit of a human traffic jam in the hall. "Wait . . . what? Since when?"

Reaching out, I grab her wrist and tug her along so we're not late for our next classes. "Since I arrived home on Friday night, I guess."

I can almost hear the gears turning in her head as she tries to figure everything out. "So, you met someone at the party?" I shake my head.

"No. You said it wasn't until you got home . . ." Alice's eyes go wide with realization; if this were a cartoon, a light bulb would have appeared above her head. "Are you serious? Your new hunky landlord and you?" Her voice is rising in both pitch and volume, drawing the attention of several students, but I don't care.

"Yeah. As it turns out, Edward isn't gay."

Giggling, Alice pushes me lightly. "I told you! You need to tell me everything."

"I will, but first, we need to get to class. I'll meet you in the food court for lunch later?" After securing our lunch plans, Alice and I part ways for class.

As I'm grabbing my things out of my bag, I can feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Figuring it's Edward, I retrieve it and am about to answer it without reading the screen. It's a good thing I do, though, because it's not Edward. It's Jake. The more he tries to get me to talk to him, the more annoyed I get; I really don't know how much more clear I can be, other than talking to my father about my options. It's not like Jake has physically hurt me, but this is no longer friendly; it's bordering on harassment. It's like he seeks me out every chance he gets, and it's probably only a matter of time before he shows up on my doorstep.

"Phone away, Miss Swan," the professor admonishes.

I turn my phone off and slip it back in my pocket. "Sorry, Professor."

My worries about Jake's persistent behaviour still hover over me, and I hate how much it's ruffled me. But, since there's nothing I can really do about it at the moment, I go about the rest of my morning before having to meet Alice for lunch. The end of my morning means that I'm a few hours closer to seeing Edward again, and this is what gets me through the next couple of classes.

When lunch finally rolls around, I find a table in the food court, take out my phone, and turn it on, only to see that I've got two more calls from Jake, which annoys me. Just as I'm about to shove my phone back into my pocket, it vibrates. I'm just about to hit the button to ignore the call when I see that it's a text from Edward. This brings a ridiculously huge smile to my face, and makes me forget about the calls.

_Hope you had a good morning. I'm just heading into the office, but can't seem to stop thinking about you. I'll see you in three hours._

My cheeks are starting to hurt from my widening smile as I read the message over and over again. Jake was never this sweet.

"Oh, I miss sexting," Alice says wistfully as she flops down in her chair and places her food tray on the table.

My cheeks warm, and I push my hair behind my ear nervously. "I wasn't . . . _sexting_. Edward was just seeing how my morning went."

"Mmmhmm. Sure."

Laughing, I stand up. "Okay, I'm going to go and get something to eat. I'll be right back."

Alice unwraps her sandwich. "All right, and when you get back, you're going to tell me everything that happened this weekend."

I wave her off as I walk away. It doesn't take me long to decide on a salad for lunch, so I hop in line. While I wait, I decide to call Edward because I miss the sound of his voice already.

Yeah, I've fallen hard and fast for him. It turns out my mother was right about all of this "the one" stuff.

"Hey, beautiful," Edward croons into the phone, his thick velvet voice tickling my ear. "Did you get my message?"

I smile. "I did."

"You had a good morning, then?" he asks, and I can hear him start his car in the background.

Shrugging, I answer. "It was okay."

"Only okay? What's going on?" There's a very brief pause before Edward exhales loudly. "Is he giving you a hard time again?"

"He's . . . persistent," I reply dryly. "But I really don't want to talk about him. I called to hear your voice in hopes that it could make my day just a little brighter."

His responding chuckle makes me smile. "Well, is it working?"

"A little," I admit. "But it's also making me wish for the end of my day so I can just relax at home."

"I know what you mean."

The line in front of me has dwindled, making me next up to order. "Hey, I'm sorry, but I'm just about to order lunch. Can I talk to you later?"

"Yup. I actually have to get going or I'll be late for my meeting. I'll see you at three."

We hang up with each other, and I step forward to place my order. After buying my Caesar salad, I return to the table to join Alice. While we eat, I tell her all about the weekend, starting with when I impulsively kissed Edward after my date with Mike. She listens intently, never once interrupting, as I tell her how he stopped us from going any further that night. Her eyes light up and she laughs when I tell her how he thought I had a thing for Emmett and how he found out that I had spent all of this time thinking he was in a relationship with Emmett. It isn't until I tell her that my parents caught us making out on the kitchen counter that she finally says something.

"Oh no! Your poor parents! What did your dad do?" she asks, taking another bite of her sandwich.

"What can he do? I'm a grown woman . . . and besides, with the sheer number of times I've witnessed the two of them going at it like a couple of jack rabbits, I'd say they got their just deserts.

"They were curious," I continue. "They asked a few questions at lunch, and while my dad looked like he was going to have a heart attack when he found out that Edward and I weren't actually dating yet, he came around."

"So, did you and Edward . . . you know?" She winks and nudges me.

All I can do is laugh. "What are you, twelve? No, Edward and I have not slept together yet. He wants to wait, and I kind of like the idea. Especially since I'm not overly experienced, plus we still have a lot to learn about one another."

"So, when do I get to meet him? You know, give him my stamp of approval," Alice teases, waggling her eyebrows.

"He's actually picking me up after school. You could meet him then." This news makes Alice absolutely giddy.

Not wanting to monopolize the entire lunch hour, I ask Alice about her weekend, and we finish our lunch while she talks about a guy she met last week.

"I don't know," she says after I ask if she's going to see him again. "He seems great, but I just didn't feel that spark, you know?"

Pushing the last few leaves of lettuce around my plate, I laugh. "Yeah, actually I do. If you'd have asked me that a couple weeks ago, I'd have told you that you sounded like my mother . . . but I get it."

When our lunch hour ends, we walk together to our next classes. The rest of the afternoon seems to pass fairly quickly, which is a pleasant surprise. I figured it would drag, especially since that's how things usually happen when you have something to look forward to.

At the end of the day, Alice meets me by the front entrance and walks with me outside, excitedly telling me about her psych class while we make our way to the lot. It isn't until Edward comes into view that she clams up—or maybe I just can't hear her because he's smiling crookedly at me. It's more likely that, because Alice isn't known for going mute for anything.

He's parked his car right at the end of the sidewalk, and is leaning against the passenger side of his car, smiling wide when our eyes meet. As if that's not enough to make every single bone in my body turn into jelly, he's wearing a suit and tie. He pushes himself off his car, and I pick up the pace until we meet halfway. His arms encircle my waist, mine his neck, and he pushes his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.

"Hey," I whisper, teasing his soft hair with my fingertips. "I want to introduce you to someone." I turn around to see Alice smiling wide, and one of Edward's hands remains on my waist, always keeping a physical connection between us. "Edward, this is my friend, Alice. Alice, this is Edward . . ." I pause, because I'm not sure if I should introduce him as my boyfriend, or just leave it at that until we talk about it a little more. I decide to wait. Maybe until after we've gone on a couple of dates.

Edward outstretches his free arm. "It's a pleasure, Alice. Bella's told me so much about you. Thank you for staying with her last week while I was away."

Smiling even wider, Alice takes Edward's hand and begins to shake it rapidly. "It was no problem. You have a lovely home. I've heard so many things."

This makes Edward laugh, and I blush when he looks down at me with a cocky grin and an arched brow. "I'll bet you have. Though, I'm not sure how much of it was based on fact. Am I right?"

"There may be a possibility that I confided in Alice about a thing or two," I tell him, reaching for his wrist and glancing at his watch. "Shoot, we should get going. Alice? I'll call you later?"

"Sounds good! Nice meeting you, Edward."

Edward takes my bag and opens my door. I'm just about to step into the car when he grabs my upper arm and stops me, smiling as he leans down and gently presses his lips to mine.

"I never realized just how much I could miss that," I whisper, bringing my hand up to grip his tie. "By the way . . . this suit? It's like you're _trying_ to kill me."

Chuckling, Edward nods toward the car. "Come on, let's get you to work, shall we?"

I sigh. "If we have to."

"What time do you get off tonight?" Edward asks as he pulls out of the lot. He realizes what he's said before I can say or do anything, and he starts laughing. "Get off _work_." He shakes his head at himself. "I'm sorry."

Honestly, I find it comforting to know that I'm not the only one who says ridiculously inappropriate things at the worst possible times. Smiling, I place my hand on his arm and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Nine-thirty." I glance over at him. "I'm closing tonight, so I'll grab a cab home."

"Not a chance." I'm about to protest—again—but before I can, Edward continues. "Rose had a chance to take a look at your truck. She says she knows what's wrong and will order the parts for it. She says it'll be out of commission for a couple of weeks while she waits for the parts, but she should be able to make it 'better than new.' Until then, I'll drive you to and from school and work."

"No," I protest, turning my upper body to him as much as possible in my seatbelt. "It's too much. I'll figure something else out."

"It's really not a problem, Bella. I don't understand why you won't let me help you." He seems almost disappointed that I'm so quick to refuse his help.

Dropping my eyes to my hands, I shrug. "I just don't want you to have to rearrange your entire schedule just because my truck is a piece of crap."

"Don't ever say that to Rose," he warns with a smile. "She's done nothing but rave about it all afternoon." His warm hand moves from the gearshift to my thigh, making me inhale shakily. "And it's really not a problem. I don't mind rearranging a few things to make this work."

"Fine," I concede, placing my hand over his. "But don't do anything that might jeopardize your job. If you can't drive me or pick me up for whatever reason, please let me know so I can figure something else out. Promise me?"

"Okay. I promise."

When we arrive at the café, I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean across the console to give Edward a kiss. "Okay, I'll see you later, then. Thanks again for the ride."

The minute I open the door, I see Kate is alone behind the counter and there's a lineup that almost reaches the door. I decide not to wait the additional twenty minutes before my shift is supposed to start, instead rushing behind the counter and making Kate's orders as she rings them in.

Within fifteen minutes, we're caught up.

"Thanks for starting early," Kate says as she wipes the counter down.

"Yeah, no problem. Where's Paul?"

Huffing, Kate tosses her rag onto the counter and crosses her arms. "He called in sick, and no one could cover his shift."

"Sorry. If I wasn't in class all afternoon, I'd have come in earlier. You know, if it's not busy later, you should go home early and I'll close up," I offer.

"Yeah? Cool." Kate picks up her cloth again and puts it in the sink before restocking the shelves. "Oh, by the way, was that your hunky landlord that dropped you off?"

"Mmmhmm," I hum, turning to give her a sly smile. "My truck broke down this morning, and he's kind of designated himself my personal chauffeur."

She must hear the happy lilt in my voice, because her eyes widen and her jaw drops. "Oh my god! Are you two together?"

"Yeah, we kind of are. We had the best weekend, and he wants to take me out on our first official date tomorrow," I tell her excitedly.

"Fun! Where's he taking you?"

I shrug. "No idea. I didn't ask."

"Well, whatever he's got planned, I bet it'll be amazing. He seems like the romantic type." Kate seems almost mesmerized as she talks. "You know, if you ever wanted to double, I bet Garrett would be up for it. We could go to a movie sometime."

"Yeah," I agree. "That might be nice. I'll talk to Edward."

As the hours go by, we don't see too many customers. We have our busy periods, but for the most part, it's pretty dead. By eight o'clock, I tell Kate that she can probably go home, because with only an hour left, I can probably handle things.

"Only if you're sure," Kate tells me. "I'd hate for you to get busy after I leave."

"It's nothing I can't handle," I assure her. "Go home."

Once I'm alone, I begin the pre-closing duties, wiping down all the tables, sweeping and mopping, cleaning all of the coffee machines, and making sure that everything is stocked for tomorrow morning's shift. I have maybe three customers come in over the next forty-five minutes. After the last one leaves, I have nothing left to do, so I grab myself a double chocolate chip cookie and hop up on the counter with my back to the door to eat it.

"Busy night?" His silky voice both alarms and excites me, and instead of hopping down and going the long way around, I bend my legs and turn on the countertop until I'm facing him. Before I can dismount the stainless steel surface, Edward has approached me.

"It's been all right," I tell him. "Better now that you're here." He's still wearing his suit, which either means he's been working all this time, or he left it on for me. It doesn't matter what his reasoning, really, because I really love this look.

He places his hands on either side of my thighs, his thumbs grazing the denim seams, and he pushes his way between my legs. I'm beginning to compare our position to Saturday morning in our kitchen, and I feel a faint tingle starting between my legs. I want him so badly, but know that we can't do anything here. It would be wrong.

_Oh god, but so much fun . . ._

"I'm sure this is going to make me sound incredibly cliché," Edward says in his low, sexy voice, "but I really missed you today. Before this weekend, being without you wasn't easy—especially when I was in Houston—but now that we're finally on the same page . . . I found it hard to concentrate on anything all day."

"Well," I say, setting my half-eaten cookie down on the counter and wrapping my hand around his tie to tug him closer. "I'm here, and you're here . . ."

Edward lowers his face until his lips are within an inch of my own, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. My pulse begins to race, my skin prickles with anticipation, and my stomach knots with desire for him. Then, just as I feel his soft, plump lower lip against my own, there's an annoying vibration against my thigh that distracts me. I assume it's a text and try to get back into the moment when it buzzes against my thigh once more.

"What is that?" Edward asks, dropping his eyes between us to the apron pocket I stowed my phone in earlier.

"My stupid phone," I grumble, reaching into the pocket and pulling it out to see who it is. My nose scrunches and my upper lip pulls back in a silent snarl when I see Jake's name glaring across the top of the screen. I hit ignore and set the phone down next to me. "Sorry, where were we?"

When that sexy half-smirk appears again, I pull him closer by his tie and am just about to kiss him when my phone starts vibrating again, this time sounding a lot more annoying as it rattles against the steel countertop.

Edward's eyes drop to where it sits, and they narrow angrily. "I have half a mind to beat the hell out of that guy," Edward growls, pulling away from me and snatching my phone up.

Before I can even think about protesting—not that I'm going to—Edward answers the phone in a hostile tone. "Hello?" There's a pause where I can barely make out Jake's voice. "She's busy, and last I checked, she wanted nothing to do with you. So, unless you want a repeat of the first time we met, I suggest you back the hell off . . . Who do I think _I _am?" Edward's anger is escalating, as is my desire for him as I watch this all unfold before me. "I'm the man who's going to make sure you never so much as speak to Bella again. She's spoken for, and I won't tolerate you constantly harassing her." He hangs up the phone then and sets it back on the counter roughly.

I swallow thickly when my eyes fall upon the muscles in his clenched jaw, moving them up until I see his forehead is furrowed in anger, before finally stopping on his blazing green eyes. Slowly, I run my fingers over the lines in his forehead, softening them slightly, before they trail down to his jaw, and I pull him to me. We kiss hard and fast, our lips pressed so tightly together they throb, and his hands ensnare my hips, pulling me to the very edge of the counter until he's pressed firmly between my legs. His slacks do little to hide his growing arousal, and I moan against his ravenous lips when he thrusts his hips into me.

When I pull away, I'm breathless and feeling a little light-headed. "I'm going to cash out, and then you're going to take me home before things get out of hand here."

After agreeing, he doesn't hesitate to let me down from the counter. My legs feel a little weak as I make my way for the door to lock it and flip the sign over, but I eventually find my bearings and head back behind the counter for the register. Edward snatches up my abandoned cookie, and I glare playfully as I watch him take a huge bite.

It takes a little longer than it should to cash out, but only because as I'm counting the coin, Edward starts calling out random numbers to throw me off. It works time and time again, and it isn't until I threaten to pick up a shift tomorrow night and postpone our date that he stops. There's no way I would actually do it, but he doesn't need to know that.

After I've made the deposit and locked the money away in the safe for the night, Edward and I leave the café together, and I lock the door behind me.

The air between us during the car ride home is charged with pent-up sexual tension. Edward's hand is clutching the gearshift so tightly that his knuckles are white. I yearn to lay my hand over it, to relax him a little, but I'm afraid that it will only make things worse.

We arrive home a short while later, and once we're inside, Edward closes and locks the door before pulling me to him and pressing my back against the door. His hot lips trail over my jaw and down my neck while his hands grip and pull my hips to his again and again.

My body grows hot, like fire is licking the surface of my skin, as his hands move from my hips and up to palm both of my breasts. He's placing open-mouthed kisses on my neck, but I'm desperate for his lips to be on mine, so I bring my hands to his face and draw him to me. We kiss, and it's not sweet and gentle, but aggressive and rough. His tongue sweeps over my lower lip before I open my mouth and meet it with my own.

With one hand continuing to massage my breast, the other travels down, lifting the fabric of my shirt until he's stroking the flesh of my belly and teasing the waist of my jeans. My skin quivers beneath his touch, and I whimper into our kiss when his hand travels down over the denim and strokes the apex between my thighs. It's a dull sensation, but my lower half tingles and reacts to each and every languid stroke he makes, and the muscles in my stomach begin to tighten.

My hands tremble as I bring them to his tie and pull it apart, sliding it from his collar and letting it hit the floor before I set to work blindly unbuttoning his shirt. The minute I reach the bottom of his shirt and pull it from his pants, he stops kissing me, and I can see that same look in his eyes that I saw Saturday night when he told me he wanted to wait. "Bella, I still don't think we should rush into sex."

Smiling, I run my hand along his smooth chest, watching as his nipples harden under my touch. "Who's rushing? I'm okay with waiting . . ." I drop my face, but look up at him through my lashes. "But who's to say we can't . . . do other things?" I push my hips forward, and he hisses. "Touch . . . Take . . . _Have_."

"Dear god," Edward groans. He doesn't waste another second before reclaiming my lips. There's no slow build to this kiss; it starts hard and passionate and holds firm.

Both of his hands fall to my jeans and unbutton them before one slips inside, making me gasp when his fingers come to contact with my slick flesh. Back and forth, his fingers move between my legs, making my knees buckle slightly beneath me and my breath to shorten. Tighter and tighter the muscles in my stomach wind, like a metal coil getting ready to spring. It's intense and unlike anything I've ever experienced. I'm not sure what to make of it, so I bite my lip to keep from making a sound. This doesn't seem to appease Edward, and he raises his eyes to mine.

"I want to hear you," he growls, pressing a little firmer and moving his fingers in a circular motion.

"I—I—I can't," I pant, trying to keep whatever's happening harnessed. My insides feel tight, and warmth blossoms throughout my body, swallowing me whole.

But Edward doesn't relent. Using his free hand, he lifts my shirt, forcing my arms over my head so he can remove it entirely. With my breasts only concealed by my lacy bra, he lowers his face to the supple flesh and pulls one of my covered nipples into his mouth and bites down gently.

"Oh god," I gasp, placing my hands on his shoulders and clinging to him, curling my fingers into his sinewy muscles. Something inside is screaming to be freed, but for some reason, I'm nervous, and I continue to hold back. My skin prickles with a light sheen of sweat the longer I deny my body what it so obviously wants.

"Jesus, Bella," Edward groans, raising his face from my breast as his fingers continue their eager mission, pressing hard and circling fast on that one part of my body that I know will be my undoing. "Don't hold back, sweetheart."

Turns out, that's all it takes before the coil in my stomach finally springs free, and I cry out. Edward's name echoes off the walls and high ceiling of the main foyer as my heart continues to race and my eyesight darkens except for the bright flashes of light I see every time I blink.

As I try to catch my breath, Edward plants soft kisses across my chest and up my neck until he's kissing me softly. My legs tremble beneath me, so he wraps his arms around my waist to steady me.

"That was . . ." I say breathlessly as Edward kisses the side of my mouth and then makes a trail down along my jaw. "That was just . . . I can't even . . . _Wow_."

He stops kissing me, raising his head to me. There's something in his eyes that I can't quite decipher because I'm still trying to wrap my head around how completely blissed out I feel right now. "Bella, was that . . ." He pauses, almost like he's not sure what it is he wants to say. "That wasn't your first orgasm, was it?"

I can feel myself blushing furiously. "What? No, of course not . . . I've . . . I think."

Edward pushes my hair back from my face with a light chuckle. "If you _think_ you have, then it's been my experience you haven't." I'm rendered momentarily speechless as I think about what he's said. Continuing to look over my face, Edward sighs. "Well, the bad news is we'll be postponing the moment we do finally make love."

While the term he uses shocks me, it's the _postponing_ bit that really catches my attention. "What?"

He smirks, and his eyes have that wicked gleam in them. "The good news, though, is that we're going to have a lot of fun while we wait."

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: *fans self***

**So, uh, what did you all think?**

**I've got a couple of fic recs for you all this week! It's been forever since I've done this, but I hope to recommend one or two with each update again :) No promises, but I'm going to try.**

**The Silver Lining **by** kimpy0464**

**SUMMARY: **Divorced Bella meets widowed Edward one afternoon in a Laundromat, and an instant attraction results. When you meet your soulmate after your spouse dies, do you allow yourself fall in love again?

**Cutlass **by** tkegl**

**SUMMARY: **Isabella Swan is certain notorious pirate, Edward Cullen, murdered her father and stole his prized cutlass. Out for revenge, she sneaks onto his ship, but Captain Cullen claims she has the wrong man. A tale of the search for truth…and treasure of course.

**Be sure to treat them to your lovely reviews, just as you do me!**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	14. To Give & To Receive

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**Sorry for the delay. RL is such a fickle BITCH sometimes. Remember that $700 phone bill from last week? Well, I got the newest bill (cuz that was the LAST month's) Well, let's add another $1100 to that. Yeah. See. Busy. (and no, not burying a body. She's still alive and as well as someone who will never see the outside world again can be)**

**Well, you've all been begging for this since the beginning. I'm still doing outtakes, but a lot of you are pretty anxious to get into Edward's head NOW. **

**And, to be honest, so am I :P**

**So, here he is ;)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14. To Give &amp; To Receive<strong>

This has to be the most nervous I've ever been in my entire life. I feel more like a sixteen-year-old boy about to go on his first date ever, and less like a successful twenty-seven-year-old man going on his first date with a girl that has captivated him like no other.

And it's still before ten in the morning; I can only imagine how the anxiety will intensify as the hours tick by.

I definitely wasn't expecting anything like this to happen when I opened the door that Sunday. The minute I met her soulful brown eyes, I knew I was done for. I was able to maintain my composure for a majority of the tour, which was quite shocking considering just how out of sorts I felt.

Being in my late twenties, I've had my fair share of failed relationships, so the last thing I was looking for when I placed the ad was for a stunning young woman to turn my entire world upside down with her bright eyes and engaging smile.

While it's only been a couple of weeks since meeting Bella, I already can't imagine life without her in it. She makes every day just a little more interesting . . . and not just because she struts around here in what can only be described as a wet dream-come-true. She's smart, witty, and just a little bit sassy; I never get tired of hearing about her day.

As the days go by, I'm learning a little more about her and absorbing every detail as though it's essential to my existence.

"Why are you just standing out here staring at your door?" a soft voice whispers into my ear, startling me.

I turn around to see Rosalie looking pretty confused, then look back at the still-closed door. "Oh, I just got back from dropping Bella off."

"If by 'just,' you mean at least five minutes ago . . ." I look at her over my shoulder again, arching my eyebrow quizzically. "I've been here awhile," she elaborates with an impish smirk.

Laughing at myself, I shake my head and unlock the door. "Sorry. I must still be half-asleep."

"Mmmhmm." Sometimes, I think Rose knows what I'm thinking more than I do.

I close the door behind us, and when I lay my hand flat on the solid wood paneling, flashes of pressing Bella's warm body against it fill my head. How her pulse felt against my lips when I kissed my way down her neck. How my dick hardened between us. How the sounds of her reserved moans slowly escalated until she was crying out _my_ name. How she clung to my bare shoulders as my fingers slid through her warm, wet . . .

The more I think about this, the more I realize I need to stop; like every other time I think about Bella, my pants feel like they're shrinking at least two sizes. These last two weeks have been full of cold showers—most of which weren't nearly as successful as I'd hoped—quite a bit of self-gratification, and going for several runs. I'm probably in the best shape I've been in since college thanks to all of the extra miles I've logged.

Though, I can definitely think of better ways to expend that energy.

"Hellooooo. Earth to Edward."

I give my head a quick shake and zero in on Rosalie as we stand in the foyer. "Sorry, what?"

She smiles, her bright blue eyes telling me she's not really upset. "I was simply wondering how your meeting went yesterday. We haven't talked since you left Houston."

Thinking back to yesterday, I realize she's right. "Oh, uh, yeah. The meeting was great, and they're really excited to fly him out here next weekend." I lead Rose to the kitchen and brew a fresh pot of coffee for us while she sits at the island.

"And the rest of your day? How's your roomie?" She sings that last word because she's fully aware of my feelings for Bella.

Having been one of my closest friends for years, Rosalie has always been able to pick up any subtle change in my behaviour—and what happened to me after meeting Bella was _far_ from subtle.

"Bella's good," I assure her, unable to keep the smile from my face. "She's really good."

"Oh?" She seems excited, leaning forward on the counter and anxiously waits to hear everything. "So you two talked after you came home on Friday?"

With a short laugh, I grab two mugs out of the cupboard and pour our coffee. "Bella actually had a date on Friday night, so we never really got the chance." I place her coffee on the counter. "Didn't Emmett tell you that? I called him."

"Oh, god. When the two of you start yapping, I tune out. You're worse than a couple of old women," she teases, scooping two teaspoons of sugar into her coffee and stirring. "Then I had to go to Pilates. By the time I arrived home, Em was gaming. And you know how he gets . . . Wait, did you say she had a _date_?"

I nod, and Rose stares at me, seemingly stunned. "Wow, I really misread her," she says softly before taking a sip of her coffee. "I could have sworn—"

"The date wasn't a success," I interrupt her with a smirk. "She came home slightly inebriated and we . . . well, after telling me about her date, she kissed me."

"What? She did?" Naturally, Rosalie knows me better than she should. "But you stopped her."

"She was wasted," I told her. "I just didn't want her to do something she might regret . . . or possibly not remember."

"And did she? Regret or remember, I mean," Rosalie quickly amends.

"No and yes. She remembered kissing me, but she misread why I stopped us from going further. She thought that what we were doing was wrong, and that I would be cheating."

Rosalie seems even more confused than I was the morning that we unearthed all of the misconceptions between us. "On who? She already knew that you and I were—and never will be—an item."

"Emmett," I respond.

Rosalie snickers, and I can tell she's trying hard not to burst out into full-blown hysterics. "Bella thought that you . . .? That you and Emmett . . .? How on Earth did she ever think you were into guys? Jesus, you were practically drooling over her ass that day she was digging through the fridge."

I smile. "She's adorably naïve. Not to mention, everything Emmett and I said could have easily been misinterpreted." I chuckle. "And Bella overheard us in the game room, and the things she heard only cemented her theory. We managed to get everything straightened out, though, and had a pretty great weekend." Honestly, _great_ was a vast understatement; the weekend was so beyond amazing that I didn't want it to end come Monday morning.

I look down at the counter and flatten my palms against it, remembering how I lifted Bella up onto it and pushed my way between her legs. Her body was so warm against mine, and it was a first kiss that put all others to shame. While I hadn't intended for things to escalate so heatedly between the two of us that morning, I can't say that I regret it. What I do regret is forgetting to lock the front door after grabbing the paper; having her parents walk in on us wasn't exactly how I wanted them to find out how I felt about their daughter. No, I wanted to take Bella out on dates and treat her the way she deserved to be treated—especially after her last "relationship"—and then find a far more appropriate way to inform them.

"Well, I'm glad. She seems like a great girl"—she smirks—"with fantastic taste in classic vehicles."

"I'm taking her out tonight," I tell Rose, and she beams up at me. "On a real date—just the two of us."

"Oh yeah? And what do you have planned?"

I shrug. "Dinner and a movie. Then we'll come back here and talk."

Rosalie's eyebrows arch teasingly. "Ooooo . . . A little first-date _talking_, huh? Why, Edward, you are a cad."

"Emmett's letting you watch BBC again, huh?" I quip. "And yes; talking is precisely what we're going to do. We've both agreed not to rush into things. Remember, she just got out of a relationship."

Shaking her head, Rose laughs. "You know this whole chivalry thing you've got going on makes the rest of the male population look like a bunch of Neanderthals. My fiancé included . . . most of the time."

Rose and I talk a little more about the evening I've planned for Bella before she gets back down to business. "So, Jasper will arrive next Friday at six-thirty, correct?" I nod. "Good. You'll be back with enough time to pick him up from the airport."

My eyebrows knit together in confusion, and I give my head a shake. "Back?"

Rosalie sighs, aggravated. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten that you're flying out to Chicago next Wednesday to finalize Crowley's contract with the Cubs?"

"Damn it," I grumble, not looking forward to two days apart from Bella. "Can't Emmett go?"

I know the minute she sits back in her seat and crosses her arms that I haven't just forgotten this trip, but something wedding-related. "Emmett and I are less than two months away from our wedding, Edward. We've got appointments all lined up next week. It's two days." She smirks, her annoyance melting away as her features warm. "Besides, maybe the two of you can find a way to make the distance work to your advantage."

I can't help it; I start imagining Bella lying in her bed, her dark hair splayed across her pillow, holding her phone to her ear with one hand while the other disappears beneath the thin white sheet . . .

"Edward?"

I snap out of my inappropriate fantasies and smile awkwardly. "Yeah?"

"You know what, never mind," she says, pushing her stool back from the counter. "I'll email you the details. You've quite obviously got a lot on your mind. Feel free to work from home this afternoon, and just email me any paperwork you need me to look over before next week, okay?"

I walk Rosalie to the door and watch her climb into her red BMW. She gives me a little wave before peeling away from the curb, and I head back into the house. I busy myself with tidying the kitchen before heading back up to my study to check my emails and look over the paperwork I need for Jasper's visit here.

I'm basically doing anything I can to keep my mind off of Bella or I won't get a damn thing done.

While my thoughts do drift to her every once in a while, transforming into an erotic little fantasy involving the two of us on top of this very desk, I'm able to get through the documents I have to, and also finalize my itinerary for my trip next Wednesday. I'm sure Bella won't be nearly as upset by my having to leave as I am, but I'd like to think she will be a little. Thinking about this only serves to remind me of Rosalie's suggestion that maybe Bella and I can use this time to our advantage.

I chuckle to myself, closing my email when I notice the time. "Well, I did promise her a lot of fun over the next little while," I say quietly to the empty room.

After shutting down my computer, I adjust the beginnings of my erection and think horrifying things about my old math teacher in high school. Desperate times call for desperate measures, because there's absolutely no time for a cold shower right now.

I'm breaking every speed limit from home to the school, needing to see Bella as soon as possible. There's not a doubt in my mind that if Bella's father caught wind of my reckless driving, he'd have my head.

I park in the same spot as yesterday and hop out of my car so I can wait for her. I've apparently got my arrival down to the minute, because no sooner am I walking around the front of my car, do I catch sight of her walking briskly toward me, smiling brightly.

"Hey, gorgeous," I greet her, meeting her halfway and pulling her into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I lift her off the ground slightly. "How was your day?"

"Too long," she sighs against my neck. "I was far too excited about tonight."

"You and me both," I admit, setting her back on her feet and kissing her lips softly. "What do you say we go home?" She nods once in response, and I take her bag from her and lead her by the hand back to the car.

"So, what exactly are we going to do tonight?" Bella asks as we pull out of the parking lot.

She seems so excited about our date, that I begin to wonder if maybe dinner and a movie is too . . . old school. Would she prefer something else? Maybe something a little more original? What if she considered my plans dull?

"Edward?" Apparently, I've gone without answering her longer than I thought.

"Sorry." I offer her a smile and reach over to lay my hand on her thigh. "I had a couple of ideas, but I'd be interested to hear a few of yours, as well."

"Oh." She sounds caught off-guard. "Um, I don't know. Dinner and a movie?" I laugh. "What? No good?"

"Quite the opposite," I assure her, squeezing her thigh gently and making her inhale a soft gasp. "That was precisely what I was going to suggest."

"Oh yeah? Cool. So, what movie do you want to see?" she asks, laying her hand over mine. Her thumb moves up and down my forefinger causing the wires in my brain to short-circuit for a brief moment.

"Uh, you pick," I tell her, my voice breaking—but only slightly. I kind of hope she didn't hear it.

Bella shakes her head. "No way. I got to pick our movie last week. It's your turn."

With a chuckle, I turn a corner. "Well, I guess we'll have to check movie listings when we get home. How about dinner? What are you in the mood for?"

Bella contemplates this before humming. "I'm not sure. I'd be okay with theatre popcorn, actually."

"Not a chance," I tell her with a smirk.

"Why not? It costs just as much as any meal at a restaurant." She's got a point, actually, but I'm still not going to have her eat _popcorn_ for dinner . . . especially on our first date. No way.

"That's beside the point," I retort lightly. "What kind of guy buys a girl popcorn for dinner on their first date?"

"Uh, an awesome one."

"Why don't we go to Different Pointe of View? I hear it's amazing," I suggest, turning to look at her.

"Don't you need reservations?" she asks, seemingly stunned by my choice of restaurant.

I shrug. "Probably, but the owner is actually a friend of my mother's—she's created a few of their dessert items in the past. I'll give him a call and see what he can do."

When we arrive home, Bella goes up to her room to put her things away, and I head into the study to power up my computer and check the movie listings. I've just pulled up the theatre's site when Bella enters the room.

"Find anything?" she asks, crossing the room and leaning on the desk next to me as I navigate my way to the listings.

While she's plenty close to me, I still don't think it's close enough, so I grab her around the waist and pull her down sideways on my lap. She squeals in delight and shock, and wraps her arms around my neck.

"That's better," I tell her, one of my hands resting just above the curve of her ass and the other on her upper thigh.

She gives me a sly half-smirk and cocks an eyebrow. "Mmmhmm, I'm sure it is. Now, what's playing?"

Bella and I scan the movie listings, and I ask her opinion time and time again, only to be told it's completely up to me. Even though I would have loved her input, she seems pleased when I choose the latest superhero movie that's just come out.

With the tickets for our movie bought and printing, I call the owner of the restaurant directly and ask if there's anything he can do to get us in for dinner before our movie. He's more than accommodating, even being sure to offer us the best seat in the house.

"Our reservations are for six," I tell Bella, setting my phone down on the desk.

"Sounds good. I'll just go shower and get ready then."

I'm not entirely sure if she's aware that her mentioning something as everyday as showering makes my imagination run rampant with thoughts of hot water streaming down her naked flesh as she lathers her body in that coconut-scented body wash she uses. She mustn't, because there's no sign of such thing in her eyes.

Of course, the more I think about her hands sliding across her slick skin and up over her supple breasts, the quicker I'm thrust right back to my earlier musings of tossing her down on top of this desk and having my way with her.

Forcing myself to focus on something else before she thinks I'm incapable of controlling my carnal urges, I smile and kiss her lightly. "All right. I'll see you shortly."

Bella and I part ways for the next little bit, and I bury myself in work. I glance over my itinerary for Chicago one more time and try to decide when exactly I should tell Bella that I'll be leaving again. Perhaps over dinner. Yeah, that seems like as good a time as any.

By five o'clock, I haven't yet seen Bella. The shower stopped over an hour ago, and I think I heard her drying her hair. With the time of our reservation drawing so near, I shut down my Mac and decide to go see if she's almost ready. Her bedroom door is wide open, but I knock anyway, because I'm not an intrusive bastard.

"In here!" Bella calls out from her closet.

Because my brain can't grasp the fact that Bella's not always going to be barely dressed, I begin to imagine her in her underwear, going through her clothing options. While I would love nothing more than to see this, the gentleman in me stays out of sight until I've confirmed that that's not the case.

"Are you almost ready?"

Bella pops out of her closet, her hands up by her ear as she puts an earring in. "I'm dressed. You can come in, you know." It's like she's known me all my life when she says things like that.

"I actually have to go change, too. I just wanted to be sure you were almost ready," I tell her, my eyes roaming appreciatively over her body. She's wearing a pair of really fucking tight jeans, and she's dressed it up with this deep purple, almost satiny-looking top. A long silver chain hangs from her neck, falling between her boobs—torturing me—and she's affixing silver hoops to her earlobes.

I'm afraid if I don't leave the room, we won't make our dinner reservations, and all this talk about waiting and teaching her about all the pleasure to be had before actually having sex will be thrown out the window.

"Oh, okay," she says, letting her hands fall to her sides when she's done with her earring. It's then that I realize she's left her long hair loose, allowing it to flow over her shoulders and frame her face. My fingers twitch with the urge to weave through it and pull her face to mine, and my brain starts coming up with excuses to stay in for the night. They're trying to sabotage me, plain and simple.

She speaks again, jarring me from my millionth fantasy of the hour. "I just have to find a pair of shoes, and I'll meet you downstairs?"

"Perfect. Give me ten minutes," I say, my voice sounding a little thick.

She smiles, and I wonder if she isn't entirely aware of the affect she has on me. "Take all the time you need." The inflection in her voice tells me she is.

I tear my thin sweater off on my way across the hall and grab a white button-up shirt and a black tie from my closet. I pair it with the jeans I'm already wearing, because I don't want to be overdressed, but still dressy enough to adhere to the restaurant's dress code.

On my way out of my room, I adjust my tie until it sits right over my buttons. When I reach the top of the stairs, I look down to see Bella standing by the door, pulling on her second high-heeled shoe. As if the tight fit of her jeans don't already make her lean legs look absolutely killer, the shoes add length and accentuate her well-toned muscles. Apparently struggling with an erection all day isn't enough; this is only going to make it harder.

No pun intended.

Bella's eyes find me as I descend the stairs to her, and her lips slowly turn up into a smile when she takes in my attire the same way I did hers. "Went with the tie again, huh?" she asks, arching an eyebrow and smirking.

Chuckling, I pick up the end of my tie and look at it. "I seem to recall you had a certain fondness for it."

"That I do," she replies sexily, reaching out and taking my tie in her fist, pulling me with her until she's backed against the door.

Again.

Her body is warm against my own, and she smells of her heavenly coconut and lime soap. She lets my tie fall and flattens her palms against my chest, moving them up until they're behind my neck. Even though I'm trying really damn hard to fight it, my cock has a mind of its own entirely and begins to stiffen. There's no doubt in my mind that Bella can feel it against her because she glances up at me through those insanely long lashes and smirks.

She may not have a lot of experience, but I'm also pretty sure that she's not entirely aware of just how incredibly sexy she is, or _exactly_ how much power she holds over me—and most likely the rest of the male population.

It takes every ounce of strength I have to find the will to take a step back. "We should go, or we'll miss our reservations."

Nodding once in agreement, Bella reaches behind her for the doorknob and turns it. "Later, then."

I exhale heavily and rest my forehead to hers, holding her gaze. "You can count on it."

The drive to the resort that houses the restaurant isn't a short one, but the look on Bella's face when we arrive at the top of North Mountain is well worth the journey.

"This is incredible," Bella says as we head into the main entrance and toward the restaurant.

Smiling, I reach down and take her hand, bringing it up and tucking it into the crook of my elbow as I escort her through the restaurant doors and toward the hostess' podium. "Better than popcorn?" I tease.

She laughs. "We'll see."

The hostess looks up at us, smiling brightly. "Good evening. How can I help the two of you tonight?"

"I've got a reservation for two under Cullen," I inform her kindly.

She glances down at her book, nods, and grabs a couple of menus. "Perfect. Right this way."

The hostess leads us to a table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I pull Bella's chair out for her before sitting directly across from her. She's looking out the window, her eyes wide and absorbing absolutely every detail of the view from the mountaintop. Below us, we can see the Valley's desert landscape and the bright lights of the city while the sun sets on the horizon.

While I'd initially thought that dinner and a movie was perhaps a little too cliché, the look on Bella's face tells me that I might have gotten tonight exactly right.

"Your server tonight will be Emily," the hostess tells us. "Can I take your drink orders? Perhaps some wine for the lovely couple?"

"Oh," Bella says, turning to the hostess. "Um, no thanks. I'll just have water for now, please."

It's the first time I've really realized our age difference. "I'll have the same," I tell the hostess, not wanting Bella to feel uncomfortable.

When her eyes meet mine, they're grateful, yet also disapproving. Reaching across the table, she lays her hand atop mine and squeezes. "Please, have a glass of wine. Just because I can't, doesn't mean you shouldn't be able to indulge."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'd feel terribly guilty if you didn't."

After I order a glass of wine, Bella and I open our menus. When she gasps, I set my menu down and look across the table to see her eyes are as wide as saucers.

"What is it?"

Her eyes move between mine and the menu. "Have you seen these prices?" she hisses under her breath, probably in an attempt not to offend anyone in the direct vicinity. "Maybe the popcorn would have been a more reasonably priced meal."

I laugh. "Enough with the popcorn. There's no way in hell I am going to let that happen." I look back down at the menu and shrug. "Besides, these prices aren't so bad considering the restaurant and beautiful scenery."

"I barely make over minimum wage," Bella argues. "This is crazy. I mean, thirty-five dollars for _fish_?"

With a wink, I offer her what I hope she'll see as a reassuring smile. "True, but I'm willing to bet it's amazing and worth every penny."

Pink fills her cheeks and she scrunches her nose adorably. "You're right. I'm kind of being a downer, huh?"

"I never said that."

"It was implied," she quips with a bashful smile, dropping her gaze back to the menu.

We fall silent for a few minutes while we decide on what to order, and in that time, our server shows up with our drinks.

"Hi there," she greets happily. "I'm Emily, and I'll be your server tonight. Have you decided on what to have yet?"

Bella looks up at me and closes her menu. "I have, if you have," she says.

I nod. "I have. Go ahead."

Looking up at Emily, Bella places her order. "I'll have the lemon and roasted garlic chicken, please."

Emily jots it down on her notepad and then turns to me. I reach across and pick up Bella's menu, handing them off to our server. "And I'll have the filet mignon, please."

With another smile, Emily heads off to put our orders in, leaving Bella and me alone with the beautiful view. "This is amazing," Bella says again. "I know the night's only started, but you should know that no one's ever taken me anywhere like this before."

Her confession doesn't shock me; before yesterday, maybe it would have, but not now. It's not that I thought Jake was capable of thinking of anyone but himself—because it was quite obvious during our one face-to-face altercation that he doesn't—but how is it that a woman like Bella hasn't been wooed?

"So Jake never . . .?"

Bella laughs loudly. "No. Jake never did anything unless there was some kind of direct payoff for him in the end. And taking me out for a thirty-dollar dinner would mean he was spending his precious money on someone other than himself." She pauses for a minute, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. "But that shouldn't really surprise you considering . . . what happened yesterday."

I try to keep the pride I felt from being the one to give Bella her first orgasm hidden, but the truth is, I am feeling pretty damn smug about it. "Well dinner and . . . what happened yesterday," I say, repeating her verbatim, "can't really be classified in the same general vicinity, can they?"

Bella leans on the table to get a little closer to me. "I'll let you know after I've tasted the chicken. It might be just _that _good."

Not one to be outdone, I mirror her posture. "Well if that's the case, then I guess we have quite a night ahead of us after we get home, don't we?" I know I've got her when she inhales shakily, and I smile just a little wider.

"So, uh, how was your day?" Bella asks, seeming flustered as she sits back in her chair.

Relieved that we're going to be changing the subject—because I really don't need to be getting aroused in the middle of a crowded restaurant—I sit back too. "Good. Rose came over and we talked about Jasper flying in next week." Then I remember my upcoming trip. "Actually, I needed to talk to you about something Rose reminded me of today."

"Oh?"

For some reason, I'm really nervous, but I decide to just bite the bullet. "I have to fly out to Chicago."

Apparently I was wrong earlier when I thought Bella wouldn't be as upset by this news as me; she doesn't say anything, but her eyes show just how much she doesn't like the idea. "I see," she says quietly. "When?"

"Not until next Wednesday. I'll only be gone for a couple of days," I assure her. I try to think about how to cheer her up, and then remember her suggestion for when Jasper was here. "Actually, while I'm away, why don't you see about getting us in for paintballing that weekend?"

"Yeah?" she asks, her eyes brightening a little more with excitement. "For how many?"

"Oh," I say, not quite knowing if Rosalie would be into it or not. "Let me talk to Rose and see if that's something she would be open to."

"Okay," Bella says. "So that would give us an uneven number—you, Emmett, Rose, Jasper, and then me . . ." She pauses for a moment, seeming almost hesitant. "Would you be opposed to me inviting Alice along if that's the case? To make the teams fair, of course."

Something tells me this isn't her only intention, but I quickly agree. "Sure, why not? I don't see that being a problem."

This seems to brighten Bella's mood substantially, allowing us to fall into a happier conversation about dinner with our parents this Sunday. Bella seems nervous about meeting my folks, which is completely understandable, because I was a nervous wreck the day I was to meet hers—and we weren't even together at that point.

My parents know _about_ her, but they don't know about us; as far as they're aware, this is still a landlord/tenant relationship. I know they'll adore her—how could they not?

"What if they don't like me?" she asks, solidifying my theory about her nerves.

Reaching across the table, I take her hand in mine and run my thumb across the back of it, feeling the warm tingle of energy passing between us. "They're going to love you."

"And if they don't? Then what?"

I chuckle. "Well, then I suppose my relationship with them is over," I joke, making Bella laugh.

"I'm serious."

"As am I; they'll love you because—" I stop myself from going any further because, while I'm certain what I almost said to be true, I don't want to freak her out. "Because you're amazing and funny and bright."

This makes her blush. "You've really got flattery down pat, huh?"

I shrug. "I like to think of it as one of my stronger traits."

"I bet it works on all the girls."

"Only one that matters."

Bella laughs. "I rest my case. How is it you're not taken?"

Having seen the effect it has on her, I smirk. "Oh, I'm quite taken with one girl in particular."

"I'm serious," she retorts with a playful giggle. "How were you single when we met?"

I knew this conversation had to happen sooner or later—I was just hoping that it wouldn't be tonight. "I'm a very busy man," I tell her. "Some women can't handle how often my job takes me away. While it's been less lately, it's still more than most women sign up for when they get involved with me.

"My last relationship ended about a year ago," I explain. "We'd been together almost twice as long. Over the course of the first year, she started to show signs of being overly clingy. She took to picking fights with me every time I had to go out of town . . . it didn't seem to matter that the only way I could afford to keep buying her the luxurious gifts she desperately _needed_ was to work. She told me that I had to make a choice: My job or her. I loved my job, so the choice was easy. Because she wasn't the first to tell me my job was a problem, I just decided I wasn't going to date anyone seriously for a while." Pausing, I try to gauge Bella's reaction to what I've told her. "I hope you understand that how I feel about you—even after only a short amount of time—far surpasses anything I ever felt for her, and I'd like to think that if you ever gave me the same ultimatum, I might choose differently."

Bella shakes her head. "That's sweet, but I would never make you choose," she tells me sincerely. "I'd like to believe I'm not that selfish in nature. It's your job, and while I may not relish the idea of you going away, I'm a big girl and can take care of myself."

Our food shows up just then, putting our conversation on hold for a brief moment. Emily offers us some fresh-ground pepper, to which Bella accepts, and we begin eating.

Bella cuts off a small piece of chicken and wraps her lips around her fork. I can't help but stare at her as she closes her eyes and hums appreciatively while she chews. "Oh, god," she all but moans, making my jeans feel just a little tighter. "Okay, this is definitely better than popcorn."

I laugh, cutting into my own dinner. "I'm glad to hear it."

While we eat, Bella asks a little about the movie we're going to see, and I explain what I know about the characters based on the graphic novels I used to read as a kid. "I'm not sure how it'll play out on film," I confess. "I'm hoping it'll be amazing, but superhero movie adaptations are either really good or just plain bad."

Bella shrugs. "I don't know; any of the ones I've seen have been great."

"You might not think so if you'd read the novels," I tell her. "Sometimes, the screenwriter just butchers the source material, and if you don't get the right director . . . well, that can totally affect the credibility of what could have been an otherwise epic movie."

"Well, this one's directed by that guy who created that vampire TV series back in the 90s, right? Josh something-or-other?"

"Joss," I correct her. "And yes. He's a self-proclaimed avid reader of the novels, so I'm holding out hope for this movie."

We finish dinner, and I ask Bella if she'd care for dessert. "Um, I'm kind of saving room for that popcorn still," she says, sounding almost nervous about how that must make her sound.

"No problem. I'd be okay with that too," I reply with a grin.

We both stand, and I'm just grabbing my wallet from my back pocket when I see Bella reach into her purse for hers. "Um, what the hell do you think you're doing?" I ask, somewhat flabbergasted.

"Paying for my dinner?"

I shake my head and pull out enough cash to cover dinner and a decent tip. "No, you're not. I don't know how that last ass hat you dated did things, but _I _asked _you_ out. Tonight is on me."

Smiling, Bella puts her wallet back. "Okay. Thank you."

We exit the restaurant hand-in-hand, thanking the hostess on our way out, and head outside for the car. We've got just over an hour before our movie starts, and plenty of time to get there, so I don't rush back to the city, instead enjoying the leisurely drive through the scenic mountain landscaping.

I find a decent parking spot in the middle of the theatre lot, and Bella and I head inside. It's not surprising that the line for our movie is huge as everyone waits for the last showing to be out.

"Why don't you wait in line, and I'll go get the popcorn," I suggest.

Agreeing, Bella pushes up onto her toes and gives me a peck on the lips, taking her ticket from me and heading toward our auditorium while I pop in the shortest line at the concession. Naturally, the shortest line takes the longest to make it to the cashier while every other one around me moves seamlessly.

When I finally make it, I order a large popcorn and two regular iced teas. This costs almost half as much as our dinner did, which is ridiculous, if you ask me; it's really no wonder the movie industry is a multi-billion dollar one.

Juggling the popcorn and our drinks, I hand my ticket to the attendant before finding Bella in the long line. I step over the thin elastic rope separating the line from the rest of the common area and hand Bella her drink.

"Thanks," she says, taking a sip. "What time is it?"

"Um . . ." I look at my watch. "Just about eight. Has the other showing let out yet?"

"Yeah, I think they're just cleaning the theatre now."

Sure enough, within a couple of minutes, a couple of staff members emerge and begin to let everyone in. Bella and I find seats in the middle of the theatre and settle in. There's about a half-hour before our movie is slated to begin, so I try to explain a little of the character back-story to her so she won't feel completely lost.

By the time the lights dim and the trailers for upcoming films begin, Bella has a basic understanding and even seems pretty excited.

Bella reaches over and helps herself to the popcorn as we talk about the trailers. She points out which ones she'd like to see, which ones she thinks look like a studio's attempt to cash in on something that wasn't thoroughly thought out, and which ones she feels might look good in the previews, but only because they're showing all of the good parts instead of saving some for the actual film. I'm pleasantly surprised to see that I've agreed with her on every single one, because I've never had so much in common with any other woman I've met.

I lean in and place my finger under her chin, turning her face to mine and kissing her softly, tasting the salt on her plump lower lip. With a sigh, she kisses me a little more firmly, opening her lips only slightly to mould to mine.

There's nothing I would love more than to keep kissing her, but the theatre is packed, and I'm not really one for exhibitionism. Nor can I justify the cost of movie tickets just to sit in a theatre and make out like a couple of teenagers—not when we can do that and so much more at home. So I stop kissing this incredibly sexy woman by my side and turn to the screen. Bella slips her arm beneath mine and rests her head on my shoulder, but instead of holding my hand, she trails her fingers lightly over my palm and wrist, the tickling sensation shooting straight through me.

She uses her free hand to grab the occasional handful of popcorn, but for the most part, we remain like this for the first half of the movie. Bella stirs at some point, bringing her legs onto her seat with her knees facing me, and I take the opportunity to bring my hand to rest on her thigh, moving my thumb back and forth over the denim.

The hand she was tickling mine with drops to my thigh, closer to my groin than it's ever been, and I battle the urge to groan and shift my hips forward. _I'm in the middle of a crowded theatre,_ I repeat to myself over and over and over again.

Bella doesn't seem to have the same thought process going on . . . _at all_. She shifts again, this time her breast brushes against my arm as she tries to move even closer to me without actually crossing over the arm of our seats and straddling me _in the middle of a crowded theatre_. Then, her hand flattens on my thigh, and I swallow thickly when her pinky grazes my cock.

I feel her head tilt, and I look down to see her smiling timidly. Her entire hand moves now, up my thigh until she's practically palming my hardening dick. "Bella," I warn under my breath.

I'm uncertain if she's merely playing innocent, or if she really has no idea what it is she's doing. I mean, clearly she can _feel_ what she's doing, right? I'd like to think it's pretty obvious—well, maybe not to everyone in the theatre, but at least to her.

She returns her gaze to the screen but keeps her hand on my thigh, still moving it and making me harder by the second. I should stop her, but my brain is no longer firing on all cylinders. Instead, I allow my own hand to travel down to her knee, where it very inconspicuously—at least I hope—disappears between us and inches up between her knees. I feel the shuddery breath she takes in against my arm as she parts her legs slightly to grant me access, and I continue the journey north until I've reached the apex between her thighs.

The fingers of her right hand curl into my thigh, and the others into my bicep the minute my hand moves against her pussy. I revel in the sound of the soft sigh that she releases as my hand continues to move.

My brain is functioning just enough to know that I shouldn't bring her to the peak of release here—_you're still in that crowded theatre, remember?_ I hear faintly in the back of my mind—but I can sure bring her close enough that we'll be sure to have a good time once we arrive back home.

So, I continue to stroke her over her jeans, occasionally pressing a little harder until I feel the dull bite of her nails digging into my upper arm through my sleeve. Her breathing has become shallow, and her own hand has begun to move over my now-full-blown erection. I'm back to feeling like I'm a sixteen-year-old boy feeling a girl up for the first time ever.

Thankfully, the movie ends—not that I even caught half of what was going on in the last forty-five minutes—and the people all around us begin buzzing about how incredible the movie was. Bella makes a move to stand, but my free hand clamps down over her wrist while the other presses down on her inner thigh, holding her in place. "Just . . . give me a minute," I beg hoarsely, leaning in and kissing her just below the ear. "You've worked me into quite a state."

The people sitting directly around us start to vacate the area, and once I feel it's relatively safe, I release my hold on Bella and we stand . . . however, I'm sure to keep her directly in front of me. While I know the thick denim of my jeans should keep me relatively concealed, I can't run the risk of anyone else noticing—especially with all of the kids now running around all jacked-up on sugar after their movies let out. I keep my hands on Bella's waist, staying in-step with her until we reach the car. Once there, she reaches for the handle, but I turn her around suddenly and press her body between mine and the hard metal frame.

She gasps when my hands move down over her ass until I'm gripping it firmly, and I lift her so our faces are level. She's breathing heavily, and her fingers pull the short hairs above my neck as she moves in to kiss me. But I've decided I'm not done teasing her just yet; I move my face away from hers, refusing to let her lips touch mine because I also can't guarantee that I'll be able to stop kissing her once I've started.

She whimpers when my lips ghost along the shell of her ear, and her fingers tighten in my hair when I begin to set her back on her feet. "Let's get home, shall we?"

"P-please," she stammers, her voice cracking slightly as I unlock the doors and open hers.

She climbs in on shaky legs, and I close the door once she's in safely and rush around to my side. I drive faster than I should—which is usually the case when I'm worked up like this—and we arrive home in just over half the time it would normally take.

Seriously, if her father ever found out, I'm pretty sure he'd be hiding my body somewhere in the desert out behind my house.

I unlock and open the door, letting Bella in to deactivate the alarm while I engage the deadbolt from inside—you know, just in case.

"Wine?" I offer her, now that we're home and it's only a little wrong for me to be offering it to her.

She looks almost torn on how to respond. "Um, I guess? You're not going to get me drunk and then take advantage of little old me, are you?" she teases.

"It's only one glass, I promise." She nods, and I tell her to go and have a seat in the living room. The sound of her shoes hitting the tile as she removes them echoes behind me as I walk briskly to the kitchen for our wine.

My dick's not nearly as hard as it was at the theatre, but it's still begging for release. I'm a gentleman, though, and if Bella's not ready to go there, then I'll just have to take care of things myself. I'm willing to move at her pace.

When I return to the living room, I find her sitting on the couch with her legs curled up next to her as she stares down at her hands in her lap. Joining her, I hand her a glass of wine, and she takes it.

"Thanks," she says before taking a sip. "For the wine and for tonight. I had a really good time."

I take a pull from my own glass and set it on the coffee table before taking hers. The wine was a stupid idea, I've decided; it's only prolonging what I really want to do. "Well, the night's not over yet," I tell her, scooting closer to her until her knees touch my thigh.

"Oh yeah? And what _exactly _did you have in mind?"

I'm rendered incapable of speech; instead, I move forward and press my lips to hers. She whimpers as I tangle my fingers into her hair and lower her back onto the couch. I want to press myself between her legs, but I know that if I do, there'll be no holding back, and I want her to experience so much more before we actually have sex with each other.

I lick a firm line over her lower lip before her own tongue presses and slides against mine. She twists her fingers into my hair again, holding my face to hers as she deepens our kiss almost voraciously. The need to be touching her everywhere is strong, so I let one of my hands move up from her hips until I'm palming her tit—her apparently _braless_ tit. I squeeze gently before releasing and running my thumb over her hardened nipple. This drives her absolutely wild, and she thrusts her chest forward, begging with every whimper and moan for more.

Naturally, I comply.

I stop kissing her and prop myself up on one arm to look down at her. "I'm going to remove your shirt now," I inform her, and she nods, fire and excitement dancing in her dark brown eyes.

She sits up, and I follow, watching as she raises her arms over her head to aid me in my mission. The thin satiny fabric does little to hide her erect nipples, and this makes my cock strain against my jeans . . . which is only going to get worse once I see her naked breasts for the very first time.

Seriously, it really is as if I'm sixteen all over again.

I hook my thumbs beneath the hem of her purple shirt and slowly move my hands up. My palms and fingers ghost lightly over her sides as they move upward, and I almost hesitate once my palms feel the swell of each breast.

_Almost_.

The hem of her shirt grazes her nipples as I raise it above her head, and she sighs, closing her eyes and biting her lip as I toss the shirt to the floor and bring my hands immediately back to her tits, feeling the soft, supple flesh against the palms of my hands for the first time.

"God, your tits are beautiful," I tell her, not really thinking before speaking—because that's honestly not possible now that all the blood flow in my body has been redirected to my cock.

"Mmm," Bella hums, reaching out and loosening my tie. "They're okay."

"No," I tell her, squeezing and pinching her nipples. "They're better than okay."

She giggles, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. "If you say so. I've never been much into boobs before, so what do I know?"

As I continue to fondle her breasts, she unbuttons my shirt and works on pushing it down my arms. When she reaches my elbows, it won't go any further, and she tilts her head to the left and arches a brow at me—at least, I think she's arching a brow; I'm too busy staring at my hands on her tits.

"Think you can tear yourself away long enough to take your shirt off?" she asks playfully.

I struggle with the decision. I really do. But eventually, I decide that having my shirt off would only be fair to her. So, grudgingly, I release my hold on her chest and yank my shirt down my arms so I can be touching her again. Only this time, I want to touch her everywhere—and I really fucking hope she wants to do the same.

"Lay down," I instruct gently, not wanting to come off as some kind of commanding jerk.

She's quick to comply, and I let my fingers follow the trail my eyes have set. They start at her temple, moving down along her cheekbone and over her jaw before tracing the long line of her neck. I pause there to kiss and lick the hollow of her throat, and this makes her abdomen quiver against me. Lifting my head, I continue on the path I've mentally mapped out, roaming over her clavicle and down between her breasts until I'm cupping them both firmly for another moment.

"Oh god," she pants, arching her back into my touch.

My hands release her tits, moving firmly down both sides of her ribs and over her hips, my thumbs firmly tracing the soft, lean curve of her abdomen and stopping once I've reached the waist of her jeans.

"Do it," she pleads breathlessly. "Please."

In my current state, there's no way she needs to ask me more than once. I lower my face to her breast and pull one of her nipples into my mouth, grazing it with my teeth and making her hiss. My hands work quickly to undo the button of her pants before I slip one in behind the denim and stroke her above the thin barrier of cotton. She writhes against my hand as I move it back and forth, tracing the inner-leg seam of her underwear several times before dipping a finger inside and finding her slick with desire.

I release her breast from my mouth and press my forehead to her sternum. "Fuck me," I mutter quietly, removing my finger and moving it up to the waist of her panties for better access and mobility.

The minute my entire hand slips beneath the fabric, she sighs a long "_yesssssssss," _before thrusting her hips against my hand.

I slip two of my fingers between her slick lower lips, circling her clit and catapulting her closer to the brink of her orgasm. She's lost above me—panting, writhing, and clinging to the arm of the couch as I pleasure her with my fingers.

"Jesus, you're so wet." I'm not sure how she feels about dirty talk, but my brain doesn't really process that she might not be okay with it until the words have already left my mouth.

She gasps, her head shooting up off the couch to stare at me with wide, _horrified_ eyes.

Knowing I've quite possibly frightened her, I scoot up on the couch a little until we're face-to-face and kiss her lightly while sliding my fingers through her wet heat again. This makes her relax a little, but not enough. "No no no . . . It's _good_, baby," I assure her, kissing her again and teasing her opening. "So . . . fucking . . . good."

I add a little pressure with my finger, easing it inside. She falls back onto the couch and moans as I press deeper, using my thumb on her clit to further enhance her burgeoning orgasm. The closer she gets to climax, the more aware I am of just how uncomfortable it is to have my erection still trapped behind my jeans.

I shift awkwardly to use the hand that's beneath me to undo my jeans; I don't intend to go any farther than Bella's ready for, but I fear sterility if I don't free myself from the shrinking confines of my pants. It's a slow process, and my once-rhythmic ministrations between Bella's thighs falter slightly before stopping entirely, which gains her undivided attention.

Her eyes move between mine and my hand down my pants curiously before she lets go of the couch above her head and shimmies down a little. Our eyes lock as her fingers wrap around my wrist and pull my hand from my pants. "I wasn't . . ." I whisper, wondering if she thinks she just caught me playing with myself. "I just needed . . ."

Then she does something I didn't expect—but have been praying for _for weeks_: She slides her arm between us and into my pants, wrapping her soft, slender fingers around my stiff length. I groan, and she freezes, obviously unsure of something.

"What is it?" I ask gently.

"I've," she begins to say before pausing. "It's just, I've never . . ."

I'm more stunned by this than I was by the fact that she'd never before experienced an orgasm. I want to ask her what the hell that douchebag and she had done, but ultimately figure it's probably a bit of a mood-killer.

"Not ever?" I ask, and she shakes her head. "Well, just do what comes naturally."

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and nods once before letting her hand slide down my dick. "Like that?"

"It's a pretty good start," I whisper in a gravelly voice, meeting her hand's movement with one of my own and pressing my lips to her throat.

"It's hard," she says, sounding almost frustrated.

My lips curl up into a smile against her neck, and I chuckle quietly. "Yeah, that usually happens when the two of us are together."

This makes her giggle and shake her head. "No . . . well, yeah, that too . . . but I meant moving my hand. It's _difficult_." She pauses and releases her grip. "Can we . . . take off your pants? I'd like to do this . . . right?"

I stare at her, unblinking, for a minute; she wants my pants off.

Pants.

Off.

No pants.

_Off._

She shrugs. "We could . . . um, take mine off too? I-if you want, that is."

"Y-yeah," I stammer, my poor bloodless brain still trying to wrap itself around the words "pants off."

I remove my hand from between Bella's thighs, immediately missing her warmth. I hop onto my knees, loop my fingers into the waist of her pants, and pull them down to her ankles, taking them off until she's lying in front of me in nothing more than the tiniest pair of white cotton panties.

She pushes herself up and holds my gaze as she starts to tug my jeans down my hips. She struggles slightly, so I jump to my feet and slide them down the rest of the way and kick them off.

I rejoin her on the couch, both of us down to our underwear, and resume kissing her. My erection presses into her hip, and she places her hand on my chest before moving it down my body and tracing the elastic waist of my boxers. She tugs lightly, working them down my one hip and then the other, freeing my erection. Her lips stop moving against mine, and she pulls back to glance down between us, inhaling shakily.

Feeling like maybe she needs me to make the first move, I slip my hand back into her underwear and touch her. It seems to be just the push she needs to reach out, take my erection in her hand, and move it up and down tentatively. While it feels absolutely amazing to have her hand wrapped around my dick, it could feel a little better.

Her eyes close, and she mewls when I flatten my hand against her and slip my fingers between her folds, gathering as much moisture as I can. The minute I extract my hand from between her legs, she whimpers, her eyes snapping open and watching me as I slip my hand beneath hers and work the natural lubrication over my cock.

"Was I not . . .?" she asks worriedly.

"No no no," I whisper, stroking my length slowly. "Here . . ." Releasing my dick, I take her hand and guide it back to resume its previous efforts. "Now try."

"Oh," she breathes, smiling when her hand slides over my cock with ease.

"Oh, god," I growl when she squeezes slightly and moves back up toward the tip. "Jesus, Bella. Don't stop."

As Bella's hand begins to pump up and down my cock, I turn onto my side and slip my hand back between her legs. I match her movements; for every up, I go back, and for every down, I go forth, circling my finger around her clit and making her grip tighten. I can feel my orgasm rolling in, the muscles in my arms, legs and stomach beginning to tense. My balls are next, which means I'm really fucking close, and I should probably warn Bella.

"Bella," I grunt, thrusting my hips into her hand while simultaneously easing my finger back inside of her; I want her to come with me. "God damn it, baby. I'm going to come."

Bella moans a little louder when I sink my finger in a little farther, searching out that elusive little spot that's going to make her cry out in ecstasy. "Yes," she pants, never once slowing her movements, she's even taken to palming the head of my dick before gliding back down the shaft . . . and it's driving me fucking wild.

"Oh!" she cries out the minute the tip of my finger curls inside her. _Bingo_.

I snake my other arm beneath her and twist my fingers into her hair, pulling her face to mine as my orgasm threatens. She moans breathlessly into our aggressive kiss, her hand moving over my cock faster as I continue to curl my finger repeatedly. She stops kissing me at the exact moment her body tenses around my finger. Her mouth parts in a silent "o," but I'm hell-bent on hearing her.

Her hand continues to stroke my cock while I work her internally, and my thumb slips up and begins circling her clit to help her along. She bites her lip, so I press a little harder, making her gasp and her grip tighten. "Don't hold back," I say, repeating my demand from the night before. "I want to hear you when you come . . . feel you tighten around my finger . . . want us to come together."

Bella is more than receptive to my words, her walls beginning to constrict around my finger, and her cries slowly mount as she comes . . . and I'm close—really damn close—and my hips begin thrusting into her hand seeking out more . . . more . . . _more._

"Oh . . . god . . ." I say brokenly as all of the muscles in my body—and even my fingers and toes—tense. My hips thrust in shorter, more deliberate movements as my orgasm rocks through every cell in my body.

My arms and legs feel weightless as I rest my slick forehead against Bella's neck, feeling her quickened pulse and hearing her ragged breath as she rides the high I know she's feeling. When her hand falls slack around my cock, and she pulls it away slowly, I fully realize what just happened.

Not only did Bella just give her first hand-job, but I just came _on_ her. That's probably the last thing she wanted.

Slowly, I raise my eyes to hers, fully expecting to see a combination of horror and disgust. "I'm so sorry," I say quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

"Sorry?" she questions, still sounding a little out of breath as she props herself up on her elbows. Lines of worry crease her forehead. "You didn't want to . . .?"

"What?" I push my upper body up and look at her with wide eyes. "No . . . I mean, yeah I did—very much. I'm sorry about the lack of warning before I—"

She blushes and looks down at her abdomen. "Oh. That." Smiling, she glances up at me through her lashes. "It's not so bad. I mean, I'm going to need to shower again, but, um, you shouldn't apologize. Really . . ." There's a brief pause, and I see a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Though, I suppose if you wanted to make it up to me, you could join me upstairs . . ."

This girl is going to be the death of me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: So, uh . . . *pants heavily* . . . was it good for you? I bet Edward feels pretty relieved. **

**I've never been to "A Different Pointe of View." It looks and sounds lovely, though. Therefore, I don't know if there's an actual dress code, but fancy places usually don't want you to show up in ripped jeans and a grungy tee-shirt. **

**I didn't go into TOO much detail on the past scenes with Edward, but only because I do still plan to write all of the outtakes. They just didn't push the story forward quickly enough to include them here. Fear not, we'll still see EVERYTHING. (take that however you'd like, because we'll probably see more than you're expecting to :-P)**

**For those interested, I'm on FB _(Angel Gddess)_ and have created a group where we talk about this story as well as other things. There, I post teasers and PicTeases. Come join us! **

**www . facebook . com/groups/282794981795996/**

**(remove spaces)**

****Timeline Note** I realize that this story is taking place in November-ish and _The Avengers_ is being released in May, but whatevs. It's fic. Let's go with it, m'kay? ;) Besides, I never mention the movie by name, just the director :P**

**Recs for this week:**

**Isabella of Lore **by** TheManiacalMuse**

**SUMMARY: **'Remember When This Was Fun' Contest Entry, Prompt 13: "In my three hundred years, I've never seen a vampire with her powers." Edward & Bella cute, silly fluff. AU/AH/OOC. Rated M for dirty thoughts, bad language and extreme geekiness. ONE-SHOT.

**The Dark Lust **by** The Angel & The Muse **_(yes, I am half of that combo *winks*)_

**SUMMARY: **Another night, another strange and gruesome murder in Portland. Detective Cullen is determined to solve this baffling case, but at what cost? What he finds could make or break ... him. WARNING: Very dark vampfic ahead. Read at your own discretion.

**Be sure to treat them/us to your lovely reviews, just as you do me!**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	15. Waiting    with a Side of Worry

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**Reviewers: your kind words don't go unappreciated. Ever. While I have been uber-sucky about replying to them as of late, I hope you can understand. Everything you guys have to say means the world to me, and I don't only write for me, but for all of you as well :)**

**Big thanks to my betas, who are the biggest part of my support team. They're super important to this whole process, and I'm so lucky to have them along for the ride! Love you, ladies!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 15. Waiting . . . with a Side of Worry<strong>

Sunday morning has finally arrived, and I remain nestled in bed as the morning sun slowly creeps its way across my floor. It's been a long week, made even longer due to the fact that Edward and I haven't spent any real time together since our date Tuesday night. Sure, he's driven me to and from school and work, but whenever we're both home, he's been busy working in his office, and I've been studying my ass off until I fall asleep on top of my books. However, when I wake the next morning, my books are stacked neatly on my dresser, and I've been moved beneath my blankets by Edward. Sometimes, I swear I can smell him on my pillow, which can only mean he probably sat with me for a while as I slept.

Creepy? Maybe to some. Me, though? Call me weird, but I find it kind of sweet.

Of course, then I remember the dreams I've had every night since the night of our first official date, and I can only hope that I didn't do something silly like talk in my sleep—or worse. The dreams were . . . explicit and somewhat of a reenactment of everything Edward and I had done that night and more.

Even though the dreams have been wonderful, I honestly don't mind waiting. Edward's promise for the two of us to _have fun_ in the meantime has been great, and I can't wait to see what he has planned next. I break out into a smile as I remember Tuesday night . . . How I found the courage to tease him a little at the theatre, and how it had set the mood for the rest of our night once we returned home.

Monday night, while still fantastic, couldn't hold a candle to what happened on Tuesday.

Not only did Edward give me an even bigger orgasm than the one the night before, but I was able to give him one too, and it felt incredible to be able to pleasure Edward in that way. Initially, he seemed pretty shocked when he learned I'd never given a hand-job before, and I can't say that I wasn't incredibly nervous about the entire situation—it wasn't just the fear of being bad at it that was somewhat paralyzing, but also that Edward might find it humorous.

I mean, I'm twenty; it's probably pretty rare.

He was great, though. Not only did he completely understand, but he showed me what he liked and how to make it better for him, all the while still taking care of my needs. It was a huge step for me, too, because, if I'm being completely honest, I've never really wanted anything to do with a man's penis before—sex or otherwise.

Jake and I didn't do a lot, sexually . . . or, _I_ didn't; apparently, he was pretty sexually active behind my back. I had no interest in touching him, and he only ever touched me right before the actual act to warm me up, so to speak. It was nothing special, feeling only okay enough that the sex wasn't totally unbearable. Some times felt better than others—which is why I thought I'd had an orgasm—but looking back, I can see just how wrong I was, because anything I felt with Jake was nowhere near as mind-blowing as what I've experienced at Edward's hands.

With Edward, my body reacted in a completely new way. My entire body hummed, the surface of my skin feeling like it was crackling with electricity everywhere he touched me. Even before he let his hands nestle between my thighs, I found myself wet with desire for him. Of course, because this was something that Jake had to work for, Edward pointing it out was a little horrifying; I thought that maybe it was unusual to be _that_ turned on without even being touched.

It relieved me to know that he liked how my body responded to him.

Now that I've experienced an _actual_ orgasm, I have to wonder if maybe I'd have felt differently about all of it had Jake been a little more giving. I suppose it's possible, but at the same time, I'm glad he wasn't; having all of these firsts with Edward almost makes me feel like a virgin again.

When Edward politely turned down my offer to shower together, I can't say I wasn't a little disappointed, but I understood; being naked in a small, enclosed shower stall probably wasn't a good idea if we were still planning on waiting to consummate the physical part of our relationship. Truthfully, I find it hard enough to keep my hands off of him when he comes in dripping wet after his morning swims . . . imagine us in a shower.

_Imagine_ us in the _shower_…

I'm doing just that—the shower-imagining—when I hear a splash outside and sit up excitedly. Not only am I excited because Edward is half-naked outside in the pool, but also because I don't have to work at all today, having gotten Kate to pick up my shift so I could take at least one day off after a busy week at school and an exhausting day at work yesterday. Sure, I had to take a couple of extra shifts next week to make up the hours, but knowing that Edward was going to be out of town those nights anyway made my decision much easier. This way I wouldn't have to be home alone more than necessary.

Instead of stepping out onto the balcony to watch Edward swim his lengths, I decide to join him in the pool instead. The last time I was in the pool wasn't entirely voluntary, and I figure this could be a good way to start our day off together.

After finishing my morning bathroom routine, I go to my dresser and rifle through my top drawer until I find a light green two-piece swimsuit. I quickly tie the straps of the tiny triangle top and then tighten the ties on my hips before exiting my room. On my way down the hall, I grab a fluffy towel from the linen closet and hop down the stairs excitedly.

Wanting to surprise him, I peek through the window above the kitchen sink to see if he's still swimming. I'm pleased to see him cutting through the water gracefully, none-the-wiser to my even being out of bed yet.

Quietly, I slide the patio door open and step out onto the cool stone, padding softly toward the pool. It's definitely a little chillier now that we're days away from December; we've honestly been lucky to have the warm weather as long as we have. I toss my towel next to Edward's on the lounge chair and head to the edge of the pool deck. While I would love to dive into the pool, the truth is, I'm far too accident-prone and would probably hit my head on the edge of the board or hit the water with a painful _slap_. Instead, I decide to sit on the edge of the cement deck, slip silently into the water, and wait for him.

It doesn't take him long, noticing me when he lifts his head to take a breath. He looks a little shocked to see me, but his shock is quickly replaced with pure delight as he swims forward until he's able to stand on the pool floor. Our eyes lock as he walks forward, placing his hands on either side of me and effectively pinning me to the wall of the pool.

"What a pleasant surprise," he says, leaning in to kiss me softly. "Sleep well?"

"Well, I didn't fall asleep on my books this time, so that was a nice change," I tell him, only half-joking. Instead of spending my Saturday night studying, I'd intended to spend it with Edward after work. Unfortunately, my exhaustion from the week caught up with me, and I fell asleep curled up against Edward while we watched a movie instead. "You?"

He shakes his head. "I haven't slept well since Tuesday," he confesses. "I've missed you."

"I'm here," I whisper, pushing his wet hair off his forehead before wrapping my arms around his neck. "I've always been here . . . I've just been busy."

Edward sighs, one of his hands disappearing beneath the water and securing itself to my hip, his pinky twirling the tie that holds my bottoms together. "Me, too. If we didn't live under the same roof, I'd be afraid you'd think I was avoiding you or flaking out on you after Tuesday night. It's been torture not spending much time together." He leans in and kisses my neck. "Not being able to kiss you as much as I'd like . . ." His fingers curl into the soft flesh on my hip. "Not being able to touch you as much as I'd like . . ."

There's no holding back the moan that escapes as I pull his face to mine and kiss him deeply. His hand releases my hip before slipping down my thigh slowly until he reaches my knee and pulls it up to his waist. I whimper against his lips when I feel his growing erection between my legs, and I push my hips forward, craving more.

It's times like this that I feel Edward's wanting to wait is an insane notion. It's not that I don't understand why he wants to—why we _should_. I get it . . . I do. But when he says the things he says and does the things he does . . . well, it's really hard to see with perfect clarity where he's coming from. I mean, if he can make me feel like I'm free-falling through the air with just his hands, I can only imagine what the sex is going to be like.

With a groan, Edward stops kissing me and presses his forehead to mine. "While I would love to keep doing this, don't we have to get you to work?"

Smirking, I shake my head and bring my other leg up around his waist, hooking my ankles behind his back. In this position, there's no hiding just how turned on he's become. "Nope." I tighten my arms around his neck, displacing what little water is between us until our chests are pressed flush against each other. "I swapped my shift with Kate so we could spend the day together."

His eyes brighten, the outer corners creasing when his smile reaches them. "Really?"

I shrug. "I figured we deserved an entire day to ourselves after our schedules kept us apart for the last few."

Edward exhales and tucks my hair behind my ear. "Always so considerate." His fingers move through the length of my hair and back beneath the water, trailing down my arm and making me shiver. "So, what _are_ we going to do today?"

Arching an eyebrow, I glance up toward the sky and hum. "Mmmm. I think what we're doing right now is a good start."

"You know," Edward says with a faint chuckle, "I'm starting to think you're not nearly as innocent as you've led me to believe . . ." I regard him with confusion, and he continues. "You're somewhat of a vixen."

This makes me laugh, because I know that to be the farthest thing from the truth. "You have no one but yourself to blame," I tell him, tightening my legs around him and feeling his erection press against me.

Something mischievous flashes in his eyes, and I shudder. "Is that a fact?"

Resolute, I nod. "Absolutely. If you weren't so good at what you do, then I'd probably be able to stop thinking about it . . . wanting it—_you_—all the time."

His hands grip my ass, pulling me against him firmly until my eyes close, and I stifle a loud moan. "You know," he says, his voice low and gravelly with lust, "I've imagined doing unspeakable things to you in this pool since the day I met you."

I sigh. "Just one more thing we have in common, then," I admit quietly, wiggling my hips against him in an effort to entice him to act on his fantasies.

I revel in my success when his lips find mine, pressing so hard that they tingle and throb. My back is still against the wall of the pool, the concrete biting into my bare skin as Edward pushes his body closer to mine, thrusting his hips into me. We're separated by two very, _very_ thin pieces of cloth, and I wonder if this is finally going to be it. Sure, we've been together for a week now, but I feel like I'm ready. I've had fun; I'm ready for all of him.

"Edward," I murmur against his ravenous lips. Before I get a chance to tell him what I want, he shifts my body slightly and slips his hand between us, sliding it into my suit bottoms to touch me. I moan, letting my head fall back against the pool deck, my words forgotten completely as his fingers move back and forth between my legs, making my toes curl.

Warm lips caress the length of my neck, moving down and over my collarbone at the same time that he eases his finger inside of me. It's only a prelude of what I know is to come eventually, having both seen and held his erection. I want him . . . badly. But there's a part of me that wants to wait because I know that the slow fire burn that we're building between us will only add to what promises to be an amazing first time.

And I want _that _more than anything.

Warmth begins to swell in my abdomen, flourishing and rolling outward until it envelopes me completely. I tighten my hold around Edward's neck, curling my fingers into his muscular shoulders as my cries begin to mount.

"That's right," he says softly, doing whatever he does with his fingers that makes my entire body begin to both tense and tremble in his arms. "Let me hear you, Bella."

I shake my head, stifling another loud cry. "Mmm," I hum. "Can't . . . Neighbours."

Edward increases his pressure, and my eyes and mouth snap open in response. He's staring at me, his green eyes hooded in lust, and I'm breathing heavily, my flesh tingling and prickling as he maintains a steady pace. He leans in, pressing his lips to mine, and I moan against them as wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on me, pulling me under.

His hand slows and then he removes it from my bathing suit, my legs loosening, but not yet falling from, around him. My heart beats rapidly, and my breathing begins to steady. Carefully, I unhook my ankles from around him, and Edward helps me unwrap them, keeping a hand on my hip at all times to keep me steady. He's smiling smugly as I run my fingers through my hair, and when my eyes drift down, I notice him adjust himself.

Letting my lips twist up into a smile, I reach out and hook my finger into the waist of his trunks, pulling him back toward me. He eyes me both curiously and excitedly, and when my hand moves to tug his trunks down, he stops me.

"Perhaps the pool isn't the best place for you to—"

"Nonsense," I tell him, slipping my hand behind the waist of his shorts and wrapping it around his stiff length. He groans and cups my face, pulling me back to him for another torrid kiss. Our lips barely brush when the sliding door opens loudly behind me, forcing Edward and me to part.

"Hey!" Emmett calls out, his feet slapping loudly across the stone tiles of the patio.

"Doesn't anybody knock anymore?" I mutter under my breath.

Chuckling, Edward rubs my upper arm. "Easy, tiger."

I look behind me to see Emmett and Rosalie walking toward the pool, and then back at Edward, who looks a little uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," I whisper, feeling incredibly guilty that he's going to have to suffer without release while I'm still basking in mine.

Edward smiles reassuringly at me and shakes his head before turning his attention to Emmett. "I thought you were coming by at eleven?"

I turn around to see Emmett arch an eyebrow at him before looking down at his watch. "It's eleven-thirty, cupcake."

_Cupcake?_

"It is?" Edward inquires, looking at me, seemingly shocked. "Damn. Okay, why don't you give me a few minutes to finish up out here and get changed?" Edward asks Emmett, who nods in response before heading back inside with Rose.

"Sorry," Edward apologizes. "I didn't realize what time it was. I thought you had to work, so Emmett and Rose were going to come over to go over a few things for my trip to Chicago."

"Oh." I nod. "Okay."

"It shouldn't take long," he's quick to assure me, pulling me back into his arms. "And then maybe we could pick up where we left off?"

"Mmmm . . . perhaps," I contemplate playfully before remembering something. "Oh crap! Our parents are coming for dinner today."

Edward nods. "We've got plenty of time. Though, I will have to run into the store to pick up a few things. Care to tag along?"

"As if you even have to ask," I tell him.

Edward kisses me softly before we exit the pool. Emmett and Rosalie's showing up so suddenly seems to have cured his not-so-little problem—not that this makes me feel any less guilty. We grab our towels off the lounge chair, wrap them around our waists after drying our upper bodies, and head for the patio door hand-in-hand.

The minute we step through, Edward is pulled away from me, and I gasp when Emmett plants a kiss on him. I'm stunned. Rendered completely speechless. I can't tear my eyes away, either, choosing to focus completely on the fact that while Edward's lips remain unyielding, Emmett seems to be totally into it. His hands are even cupping Edward's jaw.

The whole thing doesn't last for more than five seconds before Edward grunts and pushes him away, staring at him with wide and bewildered eyes that move frantically between me and Emmett. I still can't find my voice, the only thing running over and over in my mind is how I just saw Edward kissing Emmett . . . and I think I liked it a little more than I probably should have.

It takes a minute before I'm finally able to make out the sound of Rosalie's laughter from over by the coffee machine, but my eyes remain locked on Edward and Emmett—unblinking.

"What the hell, man?" Edward demands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I still don't think I've blinked. I probably should . . .

"I just wanted to show you how much I've missed you, baby." Emmett smiles, his dimples deep, and winks at Edward. He doesn't say another word—doesn't have to, actually—because I've pieced it together all on my own, and my jaw drops.

"You told him!" I screech, reaching out and swatting Edward's arm lightly.

Emmett and Rosalie are in full-blown hysterics, and my face is flaming hot. I shouldn't be embarrassed about this, especially considering how well they both seem to be taking it, but I am. I'd made a huge error in judgment when assuming Edward's sexual orientation. I guess I should just be thankful they're not offended.

"No, I didn't . . ." His words are probably meant to be comforting, but the way he lets them trail off only serves to weaken them. Turning to face me fully, he's got a sheepish expression on his face. "I may have told Rose, though."

"I'm sorry, Bella," Rose says, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. "I told him not to, but Emmett always goes for the shock-value."

I'm not upset that they know—a little embarrassed sure, but I refuse to let it get to me; I'm happy with how everything turned out in the long run. So, instead of letting my embarrassment overtake me, I decide to laugh at the situation. "Well, I was definitely shocked," I assure her before looking to Edward. "I'm going to go and get dressed."

Nodding, Edward looks to Rose, and then shakes his head at Emmett. "Me, too. I'll be right down, and we can go over Crowly's contract."

"Hurry back, pookie," Emmett coos, blowing a kiss toward Edward as he takes my hand in his again and leads me from the kitchen.

"I can't believe you," I tease as we ascend the stairs together. "Remind me never to tell you my deepest, darkest secrets. You"—I poke his arm—"Edward Cullen, cannot be trusted."

Edward laughs, stopping in the hall between our rooms and wrapping me in his strong arms. His forehead is creased, and his eyes are filled with worry. "You're not mad, are you? I didn't tell her to upset you, honestly. We're just so close, and there's not much I don't tell her . . ."

Offering Edward a smile, I shake my head. "I'm not mad. How can I be? I told Alice—not that she believed me." I shrug. "Sure, it caught me off guard—I mean, you are aware that you and Emmett practically made out in the kitchen, right?"

"We did not," he tells me, rolling his eyes.

"For a couple of straight guys? That kiss lasted longer than it probably should have," I quip.

The hall is filled with Edward's laughter. "That's because it never should have happened in the first place."

"Well, you only have yourself to blame there, buddy," I remind him with a giggle before something occurs to me. "Emmett's never going to let this go, is he?"

Edward shakes his head. "Not likely."

"Awesome," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Okay, well I'm going to go and shower. You should head downstairs and do what it is you have to so I can have you all to myself for a bit before dinner." Before tearing myself from his warm embrace, I pop up on my toes and kiss him softly.

He groans as I step away, and I can feel Edward's eyes on me as I make my way to my room. That newfound part of me that's sexually confident stirs, and I reach for the bikini tie around my neck and tug it free. It falls slack around my neck, and I clutch it to my chest before it falls and turn to find Edward gawking.

Smiling, I reach behind me and untie the other string. "You know, for every minute you stand there staring, you could be doing your work." Feeling emboldened, I tear the top from my body and toss it at him, giving him a brief glimpse of my naked chest before closing my door.

I lean my back against the door and stifle a giggle when I hear him start to grumble. "That's just mean," he says loud enough for me to hear. "Thanks for the souvenir, though. I'll be sure to keep it somewhere safe."

His bedroom door closes across the hall, and I push myself off the door to hop in the shower. I shower quickly, being sure to wash the pool chemicals from my hair and skin, and wrap my bath towel around me before going in search of clothes.

After dressing in jeans and a fitted tee, I head downstairs to find Edward, Emmett, and Rosalie still at the kitchen table going over the folder splayed before them. "Hey," I greet. "I'm kind of hungry, do you guys want lunch?"

Edward's the first to look up, smiling wide. "Sounds great, babe."

It's the first time he's referred to me as anything but my name in front of others, and my breath catches slightly. My cheeks warm, and I avert my eyes when Rose and Emmett exchange a glance between them. "Anything in particular?" I inquire, opening the fridge and rifling through it. "I could make soup and sandwiches?"

Everyone agrees, so I set out making lunch. By the time it's ready, they're just finishing up with work, and we all sit around the kitchen table. I take a seat next to Edward, Emmett sits on his other side, and Rose next to him.

Occasionally, Emmett will glance over at Edward and me before I catch him. It's the third time that I finally have to address it. "Okay, yes," I begin. "I thought that you and Edward were . . . involved. But, can you really blame me? I mean, you have to know how the two of you sounded in that game room, right? Then . . . finding you digging through the fridge without a shirt on? It looked bad, dude."

"You know," Rose interjects, "I wasn't here that night, but I have witnessed the two of you playing your video games, and I have to agree with Bella. When the two of you get going, the things that come out of your mouths would cause anyone to pause."

I smile, turning to look at Rosalie. "Thank you."

"You girls don't know what you're talking about," Emmett says. At first, it sounds like he's trying to defend himself, but then he reaches over and places his hand on Edward's shoulder. "Ours is a love that is forbidden."

"Easy now." Edward chuckles, shrugging out from under Emmett's gigantic hand and shaking his head. "So, about Jasper's trip next week . . ." he continues, changing the subject. "Bella suggested paintballing. Are the two of you up for it?"

Emmett's the first to agree, not even pausing to think about it. "Hells yeah! Come on, Rosie, it'll be a lot of fun!" It takes a minute, but she decides to join in, and we begin to figure out what day might work best for everyone. I make a mental note to text Alice later to find out her availability.

After lunch, Rose and Emmett head home, leaving Edward and I alone again. While Edward walks them to the door, I decide to clean up our dishes. I've just finished loading the dishwasher when I feel strong hands on my hips and warm lips on my neck. It's hard to focus on washing the pot in my hands with Edward's fingers teasing the sliver of skin between my shirt and jeans, so I give up trying.

"Thanks for lunch," Edward whispers, his warm breath tickling the skin of my neck.

"If this is how you're going to thank me for cooking, I might just have to do it more," I tell him, turning in his arms. When my eyes catch the time on the stove, I groan. "I guess we should probably go to the store for whatever it is you need for dinner."

Edward tucks a strand of my damp hair behind my ear, his eyes showing remorse. "I'm sorry."

His apology confuses me. "What for?"

"This can't be what you expected when you took the day off to spend with me," he explains with a shrug.

"Don't be ridiculous. You didn't know I took the day off," I remind him. "And besides, it doesn't really matter to me what we do with our time together."

"I suppose you're right. Okay, let's go. We'll have plenty of alone time after dinner tonight." He leans in and kisses me softly before whispering, "And I promise to make this morning up to you."

Giggling, I meet his intense gaze. "I think you're forgetting that it's _me_ who has to make this morning up to _you_." Before things can get too out of hand, I push on his chest to back him up a step. "Come on. If we don't go now, then we won't get this done."

That mischievous gleam has returned to his eyes, and he reaches for me again. "Oh, I think we could."

Laughing, I place my palm flat against his chest, holding him at arm's length. "Down, boy."

Thankfully, it doesn't take much convincing to get Edward out of the house. Since we apparently don't need much for dinner, Edward suggests we walk to the store. I weave my fingers between his and we walk through the neighbourhood, taking a well-worn path through a nearby park until we reach the market.

I grab a basket, and Edward begins filling it with the fresh produce he needs for a salad. We continue through the store, grabbing fresh buns from the bakery and cheese from the deli before paying and heading home. Edward and I each take a bag to carry, and when we arrive home, set to work in the kitchen prepping dinner.

Edward is apparently against buying pre-formed hamburgers and makes his own from scratch. Or, as close to scratch as possible without having a herd of cattle at your disposal. I watch as he puts the ground beef in a large mixing bowl, adds cracker crumbs that have actually been pulverized into dust, and an egg before smooshing his hands all in it. Once it's all mixed, he begins to form the burger patties and sets them on a plate that he covers and puts in the fridge.

As he begins washing the vegetables for the salad, there's a knock at the front door. I inhale sharply, my nerves taking hold at knowing that it could be Edward's parents at the door.

Sensing my apprehension, Edward presses his lips to my forehead. "Relax. You stay here, and I'll go get the door. Keep yourself busy by starting the salad," he suggests, handing me the very large kitchen knife.

I laugh. "You really think it's a good idea to be giving me a sharp knife? I'm shaking like a leaf."

Shaking his head, Edward sets the knife on the counter. "I'm sure you'll be fine. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure. Take your time. Don't rush." Once he's out of the room, I carefully pick up the knife and begin slicing the tomatoes for the salad. I'm just finishing up when I hear voices approaching—all three familiar to me.

Looking up, I see Edward enter the kitchen first, with both of my parents flanking him, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Mom's carrying a bowl of pasta salad, and Edward promptly takes it from her and puts it in the fridge.

"Hey, Mom. Dad." They both smile my way before their eyes briefly drift down to the counter I'm chopping vegetables on . . . the very one they saw Edward and I on last weekend.

"So, uh, how's your weekend been?" I quickly ask, diverting their attention. "Good? I hope it's been good."

"She been drinking?" my dad asks, nudging Edward.

I roll my eyes. "Har har," I deadpan. "You're a real comedian, Pop."

"Why don't I give both of you the tour while Bella sobers up," Edward teases, shooting me a wink.

"Oh, good. Side with him," I tell him. "We'll see how that works to your advantage."

"Why don't you guys go on ahead? I'll stay with Bella," Mom suggests with a laugh, moving behind me and placing her hands on my shoulders in a show of support.

Before Edward and Dad leave us alone, Edward grabs Dad a beer and Mom a glass of wine. The first stop on the tour is the basement, and we can hear Dad's appreciation for the large theatre room loud and clear.

Mom laughs at Dad's reaction and perches herself on one of the stools. "How've you been, sweetheart?"

I smile wide, focusing on the cucumber I'm cutting so I don't slice my finger. "Good . . . really good, actually."

"You and Edward seem to be getting closer." My cheeks warm, filling with a deep blush, and this only invites her to dig a little deeper. "Oh, my. Just how _close_ have you gotten, Isabella?" she prods playfully.

"What?" I ask, surprised by her line of questioning, even though I really shouldn't be; we'd had a very similar conversation when Jake and I were dating.

"Oh, don't play innocent with me, Bella. I'm your mother. We talk about these things." She pauses, gauging my reaction, and when she deems it safe to continue, she smirks. "So, have the two of you had sex?"

"Oh my god!" I hiss. "Could you at least keep your voice down? As if Dad needs to know we're having this discussion!" Mom only rolls her eyes and waves her hand in front of her, silently urging me to continue.

I sigh. "Okay, fine. But before I tell you anything else, let me preface this by saying that if the words 'your father and I' leave your mouth at any point, this conversation—or any future ones regarding this matter—will not happen. We clear?" She contemplates my terms for a moment before acquiescing. "Good."

"So . . . ?"

"No, actually we haven't taken that step yet," I confess, sounding _mostly_ proud about it. That sexually frustrated lower half isn't super happy about it.

It's Mom's turn to be surprised—only hers is genuine. "What? How . . . ? I don't . . ."

I press my index finger to my lips, reminding her to be quiet. "We've decided to wait. A few new . . . _developments_ have been brought to light, and Edward has proven to be quite the gentleman; we're moving forward at a good pace. I just wish there was more I could do . . . for him, you know?"

I wait for her to say something—offer me some advice that doesn't involve a story about her past experiences, as per our agreement—but instead Mom's eyes widen, which alarms me. I look around frantically, thinking that maybe Edward took Dad outside and then brought him in through the patio and he'd overheard all of this. There's no one else in the room, though, only making her reaction confusing to me. "What? Why the deer-in-headlights look?"

"Does Jake have an STD? Is that one of the new developments?"

I'm shocked, and quite frankly a little grossed out. Why would I care if Jake had a . . .

My own eyes widen as I come to the same realization that my mother did only seconds ago. "That . . . I didn't even . . . oh, _shit_."

Completely bypassing the fact that I just swore in front of her, Mom pushes her stool back and rounds the island, easing the knife from my clenched fist and setting it down. "Baby, I'm sorry. You said there were developments, and I just assumed that maybe that was why you were waiting. For test results or something."

"N-no," I said, suddenly feeling a little nauseous. How had I not thought of this? I mean, he was sleeping with _Leah_. Surely, she has to be teaming with multiple diseases.

Just then, Dad and Edward come back into the kitchen, laughing. However, when Edward's eyes find mine, his laughter dies immediately. He looks from me to Renee, and then back to me, his concern growing by the second.

I force a smile, grab the dishtowel, and wipe my hands. "Hey. How was the tour?"

"Fine," Edward replies, crossing the room and standing next to me. "Are you okay?"

Mom heads back to her seat, and I nod. "Yeah. I'm good. So, Dad, pretty sweet theatre room, huh?"

"I'll say. Bet the football games look pretty amazing down there."

The doorbell rings, but instead of acknowledging it, Edward's gaze is still trained only on me. I offer him another smile and place my hand on his chest before excusing myself to answer the door.

"You know what?" Mom speaks up. "Why don't Charlie and I get it? You two work on that salad."

The minute my parents leave the kitchen, Edward takes my hands in his. "What's going on? You look . . . like you're freaking out."

I laugh dryly. "It's probably nothing—and most certainly not something we should worry about while hosting dinner for our parents. Can we talk about it after?" Edward seems unsure about letting whatever's bothering me fester. "I promise. The minute they leave, we'll talk. We have to."

With a nod, Edward agrees, dropping my hands and turning around when he hears our parents approaching. We stand in wait, watching the entrance as our guests all come into view. His mother is a petite thing, slender and not much taller than me, with ivory skin and caramel-colored hair, while his dad is about as tall as mine, only fairer skinned and blonde. In her hands, I see that Edward's mom is carrying what looks like a freshly-baked apple pie. This makes me smile and blush, remembering that my mom served the same thing just a few weeks ago, and that both Edward and I had shared similar feelings about whipped cream. Even if we didn't know it at the time.

"It's so nice to meet you both," my mom says as they continue toward us. "We have so much to talk about."

"Do we?" Edward's mother inquires with a bright smile, turning her gaze to her son.

"Mom," he greets, taking the dessert from her and placing it on the counter before wrapping her in a firm hug. "I trust you've been well?" She nods, and then her eyes find mine, Edward's gaze following. "Bella, I'd like to introduce you to my mother, Esme, and my father, Carlisle. Mom, Dad, this is Bella. She lives here now."

Esme's smile widens and she moves past Edward, taking my hands in hers. "Oh, Bella. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," I tell her. "Edward's told me so much about you both."

Carlisle laughs warmly, eyeing Edward. "And yet, we've heard very little of you."

"I've been busy with work," Edward reminds them. "Actually, since I've got you both here, now might be a good time to tell you that Bella and I are sort of . . . involved."

I suck in a deep breath and hold it, suddenly terrified for some kind of backlash. While they both seem great, their perception of me could vastly change now that they know their son is seeing his much younger, college-attending tenant. What if they now saw me as some kind of gold-digger, using their son for a free place to live while I get my degree?

The minute Esme pulls me into her warm embrace, I find myself relaxing . . . a little; the fact remains that I'm being hugged by a woman I've only just met. "Then you must be the reason our boy has been in good spirits the few times we've talked to him these last couple of weeks."

I laugh as she loosens her hold on me. "Yes, I suppose I could be."

Edward clears his throat, and I turn to him with a smirk, only to find him nervously running his hand through his hair. "So, uh, Mom, can I offer you a glass of wine?"

"Well, I wish you would!" she teases with a light laugh. Edward pours one for her, and as she takes it, she turns to me. "Bella, won't you have a glass of wine with your mother and me?"

"Oh," I say, looking at Edward and then my father. "I would, but I'm not quite old enough yet. I'll take a rain check, though? Perhaps I can cash it in about twenty months from now?"

"I'll hold you to that," Esme promises before turning to the guys. "Why don't the three of you leave us women to chat?"

I'm suddenly nervous by this idea, and Edward can tell. Problem is, the smile on his face tells me he doesn't really think I'm in any real danger.

"Well, gentlemen," Edward says. "What do you say we grab a couple of beers and go throw the burgers on the grill?"

After the guys head outside, I go about finishing up the salad while Mom and Esme talk and share a little about themselves. When Esme mentions her bakery, I swear Mom almost falls off her stool. "Oh, I absolutely love your carrot cake! I don't know what you do to it, but I've never tasted better!"

Esme laughs modestly. "Why, thank you, Renee. I'd be happy to give you the recipe." This news excites my mom beyond belief.

When I finish the salad, I place it in the fridge and go to the sink to wash my hands. As I lather the soap, I glance up through the window at the exact moment Edward does, and we lock eyes. Even without saying anything verbally, he speaks volumes with his eyes. Offering me a half-smirk, he arches a brow and tilts his head, almost as though he wants to know if I'm all right.

I can't be sure if he means "all right" with his mother, or "all right" with what I have yet to tell him. Offering him a curt nod, I smile and mouth, "I'm fine. You?"

He only shrugs in response before something gleams in his eyes, and he smirks almost wickedly. "I want to vacuum," he mouths, and my eyebrows knit together in confusion. _Vacuum? _He looks like he's fighting to contain his laughter, which only serves to make things worse.

Needing him to clarify, I move only my lips, over-annunciating each syllable. "You want to vacuum?"

Looking down at his burgers and laughing, he shakes his head and says, "No".

Even more perplexed, I move my lips over and over again, trying to figure out what he means. _Vacuum . . . vacuum . . . No, not _vacuum_ . . . I want to f . . . _"Oh!" I cry out loud, slapping my hands over my mouth and turning around to see that I've startled mine and Edward's mothers. "Sorry. The, uh, water was hot."

They go back to their conversation about cheesecake or brisket or whatever, and I narrow my eyes, turning back toward Edward. "You're bad," I tell him silently, making him laugh again as he flips his burgers.

"You want to bring me the cheese?" he asks, and I stand there for a minute, trying to decipher if he's _actually_ saying something else. When I'm sure he's really asking for cheese, I grab it from the fridge and take it out to him.

Dad and Carlisle are sitting at the patio table talking while Edward grills our dinner. I sidle up to him, setting the cheese on the ledge next to the grill. "You're terrible," I tell him. "Who knew you had such a dirty mouth?"

He laughs again. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help myself. If it helps, I really did say vacuum." Leaning in, he brushes my hair off my neck and presses a kiss just below my ear before whispering, "And while I often wonder what it might be like to . . ." He pauses for a minute, exhaling a single laugh against my neck and making me shudder. ". . . _fuck _you, know that I plan to worship every inch of you—for hours if at all possible—when we do finally take that step."

Desire shoots through every cell in my body, igniting a spark that sends warmth spreading through my veins and over my skin. I briefly wonder if maybe he'd planned for tonight to be the night . . . and now realize that we should probably wait until I can confirm that Jake's betrayal didn't completely screw me over.

Sensing that something is still troubling me, he leans over and presses a kiss to the top of my head. "You sure you're all right, beautiful?"

"Mmmhmm. I'll be better once we talk, but it can wait."

"You're sure?" he asks again. His concern is beyond sweet, and this only makes me feel confident that he'll understand why we might have to wait just a little bit longer before we have sex. Better safe than sorry, after all.

Nodding, I step onto my toes and kiss his cheek. "Yeah, I'm sure. How much longer until dinner?"

"Not much. Why don't you start bringing everything out to the table?"

I head back inside and let our mothers know that dinner should be ready soon, and they help me carry the food and flatware. We've just finished setting the table when Edward brings the plate of burgers over, and we all take our seats.

Dinner looks and smells amazing as we all start getting our burgers ready, and it tastes even better once we've all taken our first bite. I think Edward might be onto something with this "no pre-formed burger" way of thinking. Not only are Edward's burgers to die for, but Mom's pasta salad doesn't disappoint—it never does—having tossed the pasta and chopped peppers, celery, and radishes in Italian dressing and seasonings. It pleases me to see that Edward and his parents are enjoying it too; Esme even asks for the recipe, which Mom gladly shares.

After everyone has had their fill, the men having decided on seconds, Edward and I work together to clear the table while Esme warms dessert in the oven and rejoins the others, leaving Edward and I alone in the kitchen to do dishes.

"Your parents are great," I tell him, putting a plate in the dishwasher.

Edward laughs softly. "I told you they'd love you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were right . . . Wait a minute, you're not one of those men who feel the need to flaunt the rare occasions that this happens, are you?" I tease.

His laughter grows as he closes the dishwasher and wraps his arms around me. "I assure you that it's rare I'm _wrong_," he quips, kissing the tip of my nose.

Just then, the oven timer chimes, so I reluctantly pull free of his arms. "Well, that was before you met me," I remind him with a playful smirk. "Come on, let's grab dessert and head back outside."

I pull on the oven mitts and grab the pie, carrying it toward the patio door while Edward opens the fridge. Curious, I turn to look, only to see him hold up a can of whipped cream, waggling his eyebrows devilishly.

Laughing, I shake my head and mumble, "Just terrible."

He follows me out onto the patio. "Yeah, you've said that once or twice today."

"And I'm sure it won't be the last."

After dishing up, I grab the can of whipped cream and accidentally-on-purpose get some on my finger while applying it to my apple pie. The minute I lick it off, Edward arches an eyebrow at me and brings his left hand under the table and settles it on my thigh—not in an inappropriate way; our parents are seated around us, remember. We're not animals.

Usually.

He decides to keep his hand on my thigh while we eat, his thumb moving back and forth slowly, and I don't mind the constant connection to him—even if it invites feelings that I'm going to have to force into submission until we can talk tonight.

"So, Bella, what is it you're studying?" Carlisle asks.

I swallow the bite I'd just taken and smile. "Oh, I'd like to get a job in publishing, so right now I'm kind of majoring in a little bit of everything—primarily focusing on English."

Carlisle seems genuinely impressed, and we continue to talk about my schooling for a bit. Mom and Dad listen to me talk about school and my plans for the future, beaming proudly.

After dessert, we stay out on the patio and continue to get to know each other. It isn't until my dad notices that it's already nine o'clock that we decide to call it a night; we'd all been having such a good time that I hadn't even realized how late it'd gotten.

Edward and I walk our guests to the door and say goodnight, promising another dinner soon. Once they've climbed into their vehicles, Edward closes the door and sets the alarm, and I head upstairs to change into my pajamas.

I've already traded my jeans for a pair of grey shorts, and am just removing my shirt to pull on a blue tank top when there's a knock on my half-opened door. I turn around to see Edward's face through the opening, and I invite him in with a nod. He glances over my almost-naked torso appreciatively before perching himself on the edge of my bed. He pats the spot next to him, and I pull the top on before joining him, folding my right leg up under me.

Gently, he takes my hands in his, and locks eyes with me. "Okay, they're gone. Now, what's going on?"

"It's probably nothing," I begin to tell him. "Mom and I were talking while you were giving my dad a tour of the house, and she mentioned something about . . ." I pause briefly, and my stomach turns at the mere thought of speaking the words out loud. "Well, as you know, Jake cheated on me."

Edward clenches his jaw and nods. "Yes. I am very well aware of what that jackass did to you."

"Well, while I want to assure you that I always, _always_ practiced safe sex with him, I should probably . . . um, make a trip to the clinic before you and I . . ."

I don't even have to finish my sentence—thank God—before realization flashes in Edward's eyes, along with anger and compassion. "Shit, Bella . . . I never even—"

"Yeah," I interrupt. "Me either. Like I said, I was always safe, and I can probably count on one hand the amount of times we'd slept together in the last few months due to my school and work schedule, but I think it would be wise, you know?"

Edward is quick to agree, but I can see his anger and frustration is growing. "I'm going to kill him."

"No," I say with a laugh. "You're not. It's nothing. I'll go in tomorrow and find out I have a clean bill of health."

"Regardless of whether or not your results come back fine, this shouldn't have been something you even had to worry about," he tells me.

I shrug. "Maybe not . . . I'm just glad I realized it before we got around to having sex." Nervous, I look down at our hands. "So, I hope you don't mind waiting just a little longer?"

Edward pulls his hands free, and I panic—but only for a half-second. The minute he cradles my face in his hands and brings my gaze back to his, I relax. "Honestly, I'd intended to wait a little longer anyway," he whispers. "There's still so much more pleasure to expose you to before we make love, gorgeous."

I giggle softly. "I don't know if I can handle _more_," I confess, turning my face to place a kiss into his palm. His thumb moves over my cheek, awakening my desire for him, and while I know that this is as far as our intimacy can go tonight, I don't want us to be apart.

Feeling emboldened, I ask, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

Edward seems shocked and elated. "Really?"

I nod and smile brightly. "Yeah. I don't . . . I don't want to be alone tonight."

Pressing a kiss onto my forehead, Edward moves to stand, and I find myself panicking again. "I'll just go change, and then I'll be right back."

While Edward's gone, I remove my bra and turn the blankets down before crawling into bed. He's not gone for long, returning a minute later in a black t-shirt and blue plaid flannel pants. Sure, I'd have been ecstatic if he chose to sleep in less, but I figure if we're going to keep our hands off each other, this is probably for the best.

Edward settles beneath the blankets next to me and turns to face me, brushing my hair from my face and staring deep into my eyes. "Everything is going to be fine," he whispers assuredly.

"I know," I tell him, feeling confident myself. "Thank you for being so great about this . . . about everything, really. It means a lot."

Smiling, Edward pulls me closer and kisses me softly. I can tell that he wants to deepen the kiss—as do I—but we know that to do that will only make it harder to stop. He urges me to roll over onto my other side and presses his body flush against my back. Our bodies mould to one another's, and his arms are wrapped around me firmly, making me feel safe and secure as we both drift off into a deep sleep.

**::: Rw/aV :::**

We talk over breakfast that morning about my visit to the doctor's office. He offers to take some time to drive me, but I assure him that I can go myself. Thankfully, he doesn't press the issue and agrees, but only after I promise to call him afterward.

I have a full class schedule that morning after Edward drops me off at school, so I decide I'll go during lunch. My anxiety over this whole thing peaks halfway through my first class, and I completely lose focus. If I can't seem to absorb what I'm here to learn, maybe I should just opt out of my next classes and get this done right away . . .

Ultimately, I decide that this is the best thing to do so I can get it out of the way and hopefully focus on the rest of my day. After class lets out, I send Edward a quick text to let him know what I'm doing. He reminds me to call him when I'm finished, and I head off to find Alice. She's just coming out of class and waves excitedly when she sees me.

"Hey, Alice. Can I ask for a favour?"

Alice nods. "Yeah. Of course. What's going on?"

I sigh deeply and then tell her everything. She looks like she's about to explode, and I suddenly fear that she's about to go on a murderous rampage throughout the school until she finds Jake and Leah. Laughing, I ask her to at least wait until I have the results one way or the other.

"So, even if everything's fine, I'm allowed to beat them senseless?"

I can't help it; the idea of Alice kicking the crap out of Jake's hulking form is amusing—and definitely something I want to see. "Of course."

Alice digs in her bag and hands me her keys. "Good luck. I'll see you at lunch?"

"Hopefully. I'll keep you posted."

Alice rushes off to her next class and I head to the parking lot for her car. I climb into the driver's seat of her yellow, 1972 Corvette, and start it up. It's a kickass little car, but she has dreams of moving on up to a Porsche Turbo one day.

It's not a long drive to the free clinic, but the walk from the car to the front doors seems to take forever as the anxiety over the potential results weighs heavily on me. Deep down, I know I'm probably fine, and that this is merely a safety precaution more than anything, but it's still scary as hell.

Inside, I talk to the receptionist, who puts me on the list to be seen by the next available doctor, and then I take a seat and fill out the form she's given me. When I finish, I return the clipboard to her and return to my chair, waiting as patiently as possible, my knee bouncing up and down nervously.

I'm here for about thirty minutes, watching several women come and go, before a nurse finally calls my name. I follow her down the corridor and into a small room.

"All right, Miss Swan," she says kindly. "Dr. Cullen should be right in."

I inhale so sharply I think I almost swallow my tongue. "Wait . . . _what?_" She looks at me strangely as I try to figure out if I misheard her. "Did you . . . did you say Dr. Cullen?" She nods slowly, looking at me like maybe I belong in a different kind of hospital—you know, one with straightjackets and padded rooms.

"No," I tell her firmly. "No, no, no, no, no. I _need_ a different doctor . . ."

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><p><strong>AN2: I know, I said no angst, and this isn't really angst; it's realistic. Jake cheated with a skank, it's only natural that the victim in all of this follow the proper precautions before hopping in the sack with someone new. This will be resolved in the next chapter. It's not something I'm going to go into detail on, because who wants to read about that? It's a minor speed-bump and safety precaution.**

**Plus . . . how funny is this going to be?**

**For those interested, I'm on FB _(Angel Gddess)_ and have created a group where we talk about this story as well as other things. There, I post teasers and PicTeases. Come join us!**

**No new rec's this week. I'm behind on my reading ;) I'll catch up next week and have some awesomeness to share!**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	16. FaceTime

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

**Readers, reviewers . . . I love you all so very, _VERY_ much. **

**Twimarti & tds88, my rock star betas, my _friends_, you guys have been nothing but supportive throughout this story, and I thank you SO MUCH for all of your outside advice along the way.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 16. FaceTime<strong>

"Miss," the nurse says calmly—most likely in an effort to stop the tantrum I'm throwing. "Dr. Cullen is a wonderful doctor. There'll be a nurse in here while he performs the exam, so there's no need to worry."

"What? Oh, that's not the problem at all," I assure her. "The problem is I'm dating his son—" I stop myself, because she's holding my chart and knows the reason I'm here, which means she's going to automatically assume that _Edward_ is the reason I need to be tested. "No! Wait . . . that came out wrong. Well, no, it didn't, but . . ." My head starts to feel a little fuzzy, my heart is hammering in my increasingly tight-feeling chest, and each and every breath I struggle to take in feels sharp and hot.

Great, now I'm having an anxiety attack.

Seeing how rapidly I'm falling apart, the nurse tosses my file onto one of the chairs and grabs a hold of my hand and upper arm to ease me onto the exam table before I fall over. "Deep breaths, Miss Swan." She starts inhaling and exhaling slowly, setting a rhythm for me.

Obviously, I know how to breathe, but I follow her lead anyway, locking eyes with her to centre myself. When the ache in my chest eases, I shake the remaining haze from my head. "I was seeing a guy a while ago, and I found out he cheated on me. _He's _the reason I'm here. Not Dr. Cullen's son. I'm just trying to take the proper precautions so I don't put my new boyfriend at risk." It's the first time I've referred to Edward as my boyfriend, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside—despite my lingering anxiety.

The nurse smiles, her understanding evident in her eyes. "All right, dear. I'll see if Dr. Gerandy is available. Will that do?"

I nod emphatically. "Yes. Thank you so much."

The nurse leaves me alone in the room, and, even though I'm definitely a little less anxious now that I've avoided having Edward's father as a doctor, I feel my nerves about the tests return.

Seriously, what are the odds of that happening? That kind of thing could only happen to me.

I only have to wait a few minutes before the nurse returns to tell me that Dr. Gerandy would be happy to see me. She asks me to change into the gown she's brought with her, and then tells me that she and the doctor will return shortly.

It's a short wait but feels like it takes ages. The exam goes quickly, and Dr. Gerandy's wonderful bedside manner definitely makes me feel at ease. The usual questions are asked, and I answer them all honestly.

First, he inquires about the last time I had sex, to which I tell him it's been well over a month—quite possibly two. Then he wants to know my current form of birth control; I tell him I'm on the shot. He asks when my last cycle was; I tell him it's been several months due to my birth control. Because of this, he asks if there's a possibility I might be pregnant, and I tell him that in addition to the shot, I never had unprotected sex. Ever. To err on the side of caution, Dr Gerandy orders not only the standard STD blood work in addition to his exam, but also a pregnancy test. I'm honestly not worried about that last one, though.

Once the exam is done, the doctor assures me the results will _only _take a day or two, and someone will give me a call no matter the outcome. This makes me feel better, and I thank him as he leaves me to get dressed.

I grab my requisition form for my blood work at the nurse's station and thank my nurse once again for doing what she did. I'm just turning to head for the exit when a door opens to my left, and Dr. Cullen walks out.

Like I said, this kind of thing could _only_ happen to me.

"Bella," Carlisle says, seeming shocked to see me. "What a pleasant surprise. What brings you down here?"

"Uh, doctor's appointment," I tell him.

He laughs. "Right. Of course. I trust all went well?"

"Right as rain . . ." I'm not even sure how that idiom makes a lick of sense; all I do know is that I'm trying really hard to keep my voice from raising several octaves. "I should actually go." I start walking backward down the hall toward the door; it's probably hazardous to my physical well-being, but I'd probably be okay with a concussion and some mild amnesia right about now. "I have one more thing to do before I head back to school. It was good seeing you again."

"You, too," he calls after me.

The lab isn't far from the clinic, so I decide to walk, hoping the cool, fresh air will help clear my head of all the muddled thoughts and paranoia. Because I don't have an appointment, I'm told it could possibly be a little bit of a wait, but I'm okay with that. While I could book an appointment for tomorrow, I need to get this over with as soon as possible. For me. For Edward. For us.

Just like at the doctor's office, I check in at the main desk and take a seat to wait my turn. People come. People go. Some people go into the back and then return to the waiting room and start reading a magazine because they have to go back for another round of testing. I hope I won't be one of _those_ people; having my blood drawn is bad enough. I can feel my stomach churning with unease the more I think about it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I dig it out and see that I've received a text from Edward. A welcome distraction.

_How did it go?_

_Exam's done . . ._

My thumb hovers over the send button for a brief moment before I decide to add more.

—_almost had your DAD as my doctor. WTH?_

I watch the screen of my iPhone and smile when I see the little ellipsis bubble show up that signifies Edward is responding. Then my phone vibrates in my hand.

_O.o Sorry, babe. I didn't realize he'd be at the clinic today—he's usually at the hospital. Sooo…?_

_They want me to have blood tests. They'll call when the results are in._

It doesn't take long before his next message comes in.

_And how are you doing?_

I pause for a moment, trying to find the words to explain what a mess I've been up until now. It's not that I want to withhold anything from him; I just don't want Edward to worry himself over the fact that I had a minor meltdown.

_I've had better mornings. Experienced a small anxiety attack at the clinic, but I'm okay now. I just want this done._

Part of me hesitates before pressing send, but I do it because I know he's probably just as anxious about all of this as I am. His response is immediate.

_Me, too. Should I duck out and come wait with you? I don't mind._

I'm tempted to tell him yes, and I'm actually just starting to do just that, when my name is called out. I quickly erase the beginning of my message and tap out a new one.

_They just called me back. I'll phone you when I'm done._

I put my phone back in my pocket and head toward the woman who is waiting to fill several vials with my blood. A shudder works its way down my spine, and my stomach rolls at the idea. I can feel the blood draining from my face as I get closer and closer to that damn chair, but I make it. Barely.

"You okay, hun?" the older technician asks, tearing open one of those packets with a sterile wipe inside it.

I try to focus on her, taking in the white lab coat that covers her fuller frame, her salt and pepper hair tightly pulled back into a low bun, and the glasses that sit perched on her small, button nose. Sadly, this does little to really help. I smell the alcohol on the swab and instantly turn my head away, clenching my eyes shut. "Yeah," I tell her in a strangled voice. "I just hate having blood drawn. I'm a little squeamish."

I feel the rubber tourniquet wrap around my upper arm, pinching the skin slightly before I feel her warm finger run over the bend of my elbow. "Don't worry, dear," she says softly. "It'll be over before you know it."

I take several deep breaths, matching them to each stroke her finger makes over my engorged vein. Her pressure intensifies after a couple before stopping, and I wait for the pain of the needle piercing my skin. I count to ten, then to fifteen, and then to twenty. Every second feels like minutes before I feel the pressure soften and the pinch of the rubber around my arm cease.

"There you go," the tech says cheerfully. "All done."

My head snaps toward my arm to see she's holding a cotton ball in place with her thumb while she tears off a piece of medical tape to secure it. "That was . . . I didn't even feel it."

Smiling warmly, she pats my hand. "This isn't my first rodeo, honey."

With a nervous laugh, I pull my sleeve down over my arm carefully and stand up. "So, the results . . .?"

"Will probably be ready in a day or two," she replies, telling me the same thing my doctor already did. I'll admit, I was hopeful for same-day results.

I thank her and pull my phone out of my pocket, dialing Edward's number as I exit the building and walk toward Alice's car. A part of me thought that I'd feel better after getting all of this done, but now the wait for the results is weighing on me—suffocating me.

"Hey." His warm voice fills my head as I slip into the driver's seat. "How are you doing?"

"Honestly, I can't believe I even have to be doing this," I admit, my voice trembling. "As if it wasn't bad enough he cheated . . . but this?"

"I know," he tells me softly. "What can I do?"

"Come pick me up?" I ask. "I'm headed back to have lunch with Alice because I promised her we'd talk, but I don't think I can concentrate enough to go to class this afternoon."

"Yeah. I'll finish up and let Rose know I'll be working from home the rest of the afternoon. I can be there in an hour?"

"Yes. Perfect."

We hang up with each other and I head back to the school. After parking the car, I head inside and to the food court to wait for Alice. I know I should probably eat something, but I have no appetite.

Alice finds me within seconds and foregoes her own need for food to come sit with me. "How did everything go?"

"Fine," I reply quietly. "The doctor had them do a pregnancy test too."

Alice's eyes go wide. "What? You don't think you're—"

"God, no! We were always safe, and I'm on birth control," I assure her. "It's just standard procedure."

Exhaling heavily, Alice flops back in her chair and shakes her head. "Well, thank God! So, when do you find out?"

"In a day or two."

There's a brief pause, and as I look across the table at Alice, I notice that she's staring blankly ahead. Finally, she blinks and smiles at me. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

I shrug. "Maybe, but it's all I can think about. I'm actually heading home in a bit. Edward's on his way to come pick me up."

"I think that's a good idea."

A familiar laugh booms through the court, drawing my eyes up. There, about thirty feet away, is Jake, and he's surrounded by several women. I'm not jealous about the attention he's bestowing on them, but I am irritated by how they're clinging to him as though they don't know what a jackass he is; I find it hard to believe that his tryst with Leah hasn't made the gossip chain.

"Ugh," I grunt, rolling my eyes. "He's such a dog. I can't believe I ever fell for that."

Alice turns and looks where I am. "You know, someone should probably tell them that when you sleep with dogs, you tend to get fleas." I laugh, even though I shouldn't, given my current predicament.

My laughter dies the minute I glance off to the right and see Edward appear, but the smile remains on my face, even widening a little more. I thank Alice again for the use of her car and give her a hug just as Edward arrives at our table.

"Hello, Alice," he says cordially, looking down at me, likely trying to see how well I'm holding up.

"Hey. Good to see you again," she says, standing up and excusing herself to grab lunch before class.

"Was Rose mad?" I ask as Edward wraps an arm around me and leads me through the room.

Chuckling, he leans in and kisses the top of my head. "Rose works for me. She's not allowed to be mad."

I glance up at Edward skeptically; I may not have known the woman for very long, but I have a feeling that she wears the pants in that working relationship. He only reaffirms my suspicions with a smile and a shrug before he speaks. "No, she wasn't mad. I don't ask for much time out of the office, plus there's not much to be done before I leave on Wednesday."

I may not like the idea of being apart from Edward very much, but I realize that he loves his job, and I could never take something that important away from him. I love the way his eyes light up when he talks about work. Sure, I may not understand most of it, but for him, I'd learn. He's so passionate about it that it makes me _want_ to understand so I can share it with him.

As we reach the hall that will lead us outside, Jake and his groupies laugh again, gaining Edward's attention. His step falters, but I give him a gentle tug to keep him moving. "Come on. Take me home," I urge, clutching the front of his t-shirt gently. "Whatever they're talking about doesn't concern us . . . and if it does, I don't care."

Smiling, Edward nods and leans down to press a kiss onto my forehead. "You're right."

"Naturally," I tease.

Outside, Edward leads me through the lot to where he parked the car, and we head for home. Once there, he ushers me off to the living room and tells me he's going to make me a cup of tea. His need to take care of me makes me feel so incredibly special, and it's definitely something I've enjoyed getting used to.

Before I go and make myself cozy, I head upstairs to change out of my jeans. I pull on a pair of yoga pants and my loose grey sweater before heading back downstairs. I figure the sweater is my best wardrobe choice so as not to tease Edward while we wait to hear from the clinic. It's still not entirely innocent, since the neck opening has a tendency to slip off my shoulder from time to time, but it's better than nothing—obviously.

As I descend the stairs, Edward is just passing through on his way toward the living room, and I suddenly reconsider my outfit as his eyes widen and move down my body.

"I, uh, wanted to change into something more comfortable than jeans," I explain, tugging at the hem of the long sweater as I fall into step with him. I settle back on the couch before Edward hands me my tea, and we sit in silence for a bit before Edward asks about the tests.

"It wasn't so bad—especially after I was able to convince the nurse that I needed a different doctor," I tell him, my cheeks heating a little.

"Yeah, I'm still sorry about that," he says genuinely. "I really didn't think to warn you he might be at the clinic today. He does a few shifts there a month, but works mostly out of the hospital."

I shake my head. "Oh, no. Don't worry about it. Everything worked out . . . I still ran into him after my appointment, but that wasn't so bad." I pause to take another sip of my warm tea. "Dr. Gerandy was great. He ordered all the standard tests, and even a pregnancy test." Edward sputters on the sip he's just taken, his eyes going wide as he looks up at me. "OH! Not at my request. I'm positive I'm not pregnant. It's just a precaution."

He still seems a little freaked out, so I set my tea on the coffee table and scoot over on the couch until I'm right next to him. "I'd know if I was. And I'm not. Okay?"

Edward nods slowly. "Yeah, of course. It just took me by surprise, is all." Leaning forward, he puts his cup next to mine and suddenly pulls me across his lap. It shocks me, but in the best way. One of my arms is wrapped around his neck while his left hand grips my hip, his thumb moving back and forth beneath the loose hem of my shirt. "And the results?" he asks in a low, gravelly voice.

When his eyes lock with mine, I see that familiar spark of desire, and my heart quickens. Moving my hand, I run it up along the back of his neck and twist my fingers into his soft hair with a soft sigh. "Will be in tomorrow or Wednesday," I tell him.

His hand moves from my hip and down over my outer thigh, and a deep tingle starts in my belly and moves down to settle not too far from where his hand is. I want to urge him to shift his hand inward, but rationally, I know this is not a good idea. "Edward," I whisper, my eyes dancing back and forth between his. "We can't." I can't even hear the conviction in my wavering voice, so it doesn't surprise me when his hand travels over and up a little until he's cupping my ass. "N-not until we know."

He exhales forcefully, his warm breath fanning across my cheek and neck. "I know, but it's just so difficult to keep my hands off of you," he admits, leaning in and pressing his lips to mine. He doesn't let the kiss get out of hand, pulling away just as my lips begin to part.

"So," I say hoarsely, licking my lips. "What should we do today?"

Just then, my stomach rumbles, and Edward chuckles. "Lunch it is," he announces, patting my backside and standing us both up before leading me to the kitchen in search of food.

All afternoon, Edward does a wonderful job keeping my mind off of the impending test results, always being sure to find something for the two of us to do. We decide not to go for a swim considering the level of semi-nudity that would be involved in such an activity, but we go for a long walk around the neighbourhood after lunch, curl up on the couch and watch a couple of movies, and cook dinner together. After dinner, we're at a total loss, when Edward suggests playing a video game.

"Um, I'm not very good at video games," I confess sheepishly.

Edward laughs, taking me by the hand and leading me upstairs. "Works for me. I'm tired of losing."

"Oh, good," I tease. "I see we're going to keep this fair."

Edward opens the door to the game room, and we step inside. I flop down on the leather couch and watch as Edward opens the cabinet below the wall-mounted TV and starts reciting the names of his video games. I decide on the sports one because Edward seems the most excited about it.

As he puts the game in the console, I cross my legs in front of me and settle back against the couch. Edward sees this and eyes me curiously. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to game," I tell him, holding out my hands. "Controller, please."

Edward shakes his head, slaps his hands against mine, and clasps them before pulling me to my feet. "This game doesn't use controllers."

I'm not so in the dark that I don't know what this means, and I suddenly feel nervous. "I don't know about this."

"Come on," Edward says, waving his hand at the TV, and I stifle a giggle at the sight. He moves through a variety of screens until we get to one where we select the game we want to play. "You pick."

"Oh, um . . ." I look at all of my options, finally settling on tennis. It's been years since I've played, but I feel I'm probably better at that than, say, skiing.

I have to admit, it's a lot of fun—even if I feel a little silly at first. Naturally, Edward wins the first several games, but I'd like to think it has more to do with him trying to make me laugh on purpose with his over-exaggerated arm movements whenever he hits the ball.

After a couple hours, I'm feeling pretty worn out from both the game and the non-stop laughter. "Okay," I tell Edward. "While you kicking my ass repeatedly has been wonderful, I'm wiped. What do you say we head to bed . . . that is, if you want to?"

Edward smiles. "Of course I want to. I'll just tidy up in here, and I'll meet you in your room?"

"Perfect."

Just like the night before, I turn down my comforter and crawl in to wait for Edward. It's not long before he comes into my room in his flannel pants and t-shirt and crawls into my bed behind me. He wraps his arm around me and holds me close, his fingers working the hem of my shirt up so he can lightly trail them over the exposed flesh of my abdomen.

His lips press down on the back of my neck, and he pulls my body closer to his as he whispers, "Sweet dreams, beautiful."

"Mmm," I hum contentedly. "Goodnight, Edward. Thanks for being with me today, and for being so great about all of this."

"There isn't anywhere else I'd rather be," he tells me. "Now, let's get some sleep."

Even though Edward was able to keep my mind off of everything that I've gone through today, now that I'm lying idle in bed, my mind begins to replay everything. Edward must be able to sense this, because he presses another kiss to the back of my neck and tightens his arm around me, calming me.

As I lay there, I realize that falling asleep would have been next to impossible if not for the fact that I had Edward supporting me every step of the way. The way his strong arms are wrapped around me, holding me close, makes me feel safe and secure, and it's not long before I fall fast asleep.

**::: Rw/aV :::**

Tuesday comes and goes with no news from the clinic. While a very large part of me is itching to call them, I also don't want to be a bother. They'd said it could take up to two days, so I decide that if I don't hear from them by Wednesday, I'll call first thing Thursday morning.

Of course, this means that Edward and I have to wait not only one more day, but three because he has to leave for Chicago after breakfast this morning. Before heading out the door, Edward hands me his car keys and kisses me goodbye, telling me he'll call me tonight from his hotel room. He asks me to call him if I hear from the clinic at any time, and I smile and promise I will. I love how much he seems to care about all of this; it makes me feel as though I'm not in this alone.

While I know I should probably stay home again, I just can't stay in the house alone with my thoughts for one more day. I had decided to stay home Tuesday, still unable to focus on anything other than the test results for more than a few minutes at a time. Unfortunately, Edward had to go into the office to finalize his trip, and I didn't ask him to stay—I couldn't; he'd already sacrificed enough of his time to spend with me during all of this. So, I distracted myself with cleaning and a bit of light studying.

There are times during each and every one of my morning classes that my mind drifts, but I'm able to pull it back and focus for the most part. Lunch with Alice is great, because she's always excellent at keeping my mind off things. We start talking about our plans for the weekend, and it's then that I remember I was going to talk to her about joining us for paintballing. So much has happened in the last couple of days that I completely forgot.

"Paintballing?" Alice asks, scrunching her small, upturned nose.

Spearing a piece of my salad, I smirk. "Did I forget to mention that Edward is entertaining that baseball player whose picture you drooled all over?"

"Say no more!" she exclaims. "Just tell me when and where, and I'll be there!"

I laugh loudly. "You're a poet and you didn't know it," I lightly rib, picking my phone up off the table and checking it for missed calls.

"Expecting an important call?"

With a heavy sigh, I put my phone down and push my food around in its container. "Just hoping the clinic calls today. I hate waiting. It's maddening."

Alice reaches across the table and places her hand on mine. "Oh, sweetie. I can't imagine how hard this has to be for you, but I really do think that everything is going to be fine."

"I know, I just . . . need to hear it, you know?"

Squeezing my hand, Alice nods. "I do."

Alice's positive energy is enough to help me relax a little, and before long, we're tossing out our lunch garbage and heading for our afternoon classes. Thankfully, they don't drag on like I fully expect them to, and I'm about halfway through my last class of the afternoon when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

I'm tempted to answer it but don't really fancy Professor Berty chastising me in front of the entire class, so I let it go. I've only got another thirty minutes, and then I can see who it was. I'm sure I can wait that long.

There's a break in the vibration against my leg before it buzzes two quick times, telling me I have a new voicemail. Pushing it to the back of my mind, I refocus as much as possible on the paper I'm writing and wait until class is over. It's difficult, but I'm able to do it, only barely making it out of the classroom before checking my phone.

When I see the name of the clinic in my missed calls list, I'm not entirely sure how I feel. My stomach twists and rolls, my palms are sweating, and my chest feels tight as I check my voicemail. None of that subsides upon hearing the message, though, because they don't tell me anything more than to call them at my earliest convenience. Up until this point, I've been thinking pretty positively, but as I dial the number, my hands are trembling, and I start to think the worst.

"Life Choices Women's Clinic," the female receptionist answers on the third ring.

Bringing my free hand up, I tuck my hair behind my ear, rest my hand on the back of my neck, and swallow thickly, my stomach churning like a tidal wave. "Uh, yes, this is I-Isabella Swan. I just got a call from someone there . . .?"

"Ah, yes, Miss Swan. I'll pass you over to Nurse Cope."

"Thanks," I whisper into the phone, closing my eyes and exhaling slowly.

I'm not kept on hold long before the nurse picks up. "Hello, Miss Swan. Thanks so much for calling us back. I was just calling to let you know that your test results are in."

I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out at first, so I clear my throat and try again. "And?"

"Everything came back perfect. You have absolutely nothing to worry about."

Relieved, I find myself smiling widely. "Thank you _so_ _much_ for getting back to me so soon."

"You're welcome, Miss Swan."

I hang up the phone and slip it back into my pocket, taking a minute to absorb the news that everything came back fine. While I suspected as much, there was a small part of me that wasn't so sure. I feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off of me, and I can't wait to tell Edward . . .

_Edward_.

Glancing up at the clock in the hall, I see that it's five after three, and Edward is only two hours ahead in Chicago. I decide to call him as I walk out to the car to tell him the good news.

He doesn't answer, which I understand because he's probably busy working, so I leave him a message, letting him know that I've talked to the clinic and that everything is fine. Before hanging up, I tell him I'm headed to work, and that I'll try to call him on my break if it's not too busy.

Naturally, that's just not in the cards. I don't get more than five minutes to myself at one given time, so calling him while I'm at the café never happens. I don't even get the chance to check my phone to see if he's called me back.

After the last customer leaves for the night, I lock the doors, cash out, and head for home. It's strange, returning home from work to find the house so dark and empty, and while it may not be the first night I've spent alone here, I'm still not used to it.

I decide to change into my pajamas before I call Edward. After I pull on my grey sleep shorts and a white tank top, I grab my phone and am just about to dial his number when it vibrates in my hand.

"Hey," I answer. "I was just about to call you."

"Hi. Sorry I didn't call you back earlier. I got sucked into dinner and drinks with Crowley and his manager," Edward explains. "So, your message said everything turned out to be okay?"

"Yup, and I can't tell you how relieved I am. I'm just sorry I didn't get the results back before you had to leave."

"Oh yeah?" he inquires.

I nod. "Mmmhmm."

"God, I miss you," he sighs into the phone.

"It's only been a little over twelve hours since we've seen each other," I remind him, even though the feeling is more than mutual.

Looking across the hall, I see his door is half-open and head toward it, pushing it open and stepping through. Everything about the room screams Edward, and I feel a little closer to him just being in here.

"What are you doing?" I ask, running my finger along the edge of his dark mahogany dresser.

There's a brief pause, and if I listen closely, I think I can hear the rustle of fabric from Edward's end. "Just lying in bed," he tells me. "You?"

I look around his room and smile when I spot his big four-poster bed. It's silly, but I look around as though someone might be watching me before I tiptoe over the hardwood floor and hop onto his bed, lying back on top of the fluffy duvet. "Oh, I just changed."

"Nice. What are you wearing?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave or two.

Craning my neck, I look down and tug at the hem of my shorts. "Um, shorts and a tank top."

"Describe them to me," he instructs, something about his voice making my body hum and tingle. "Colour, how they fit . . . absolutely everything."

"What?" I ask with a light laugh. Shaking my head, I do as he requests. "Okay, well, I'm wearing my grey sleep shorts and a white tank top. They're, um . . . tight, I guess?"

Edward chuckles into my ear, and I sigh wistfully at how much I miss hearing it up close and personal. "Is this another first for you, beautiful?"

I'm confused. "What do you mean?" It doesn't take long before I realize what he's getting at. "Oh! I . . . well . . . No, I've never, and I don't know that I can . . ."

"Would you at least try? The thought of you pleasuring yourself makes me so hard." His voice is low and gravelly, and his candid confession makes me blush and clench my thighs together to quell the dull ache of desire that's begun to form.

"Edward," I sigh into the phone.

"Where are you right now?" he asks.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I look around his room. "Um, in bed."

"Prove it," he rasps.

"I . . . um . . ." I look around the room that's clearly not mine and wonder how exactly he wants me to prove it. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Send me a picture. I want to see you . . . in bed."

"Right," I say, almost palming my face for not understanding him originally. "Of course. Just, um, give me a sec." I sit up and am just scooting to the end of his bed when he stops me.

"Wait. Didn't you say you were in bed already?" Clearly, I scooted too loud, and he heard me trying to escape.

"Uh huh," I concur nervously.

"_Whose?_"

I laugh once. "Busted. I might be in yours. Give me a sec and I'll go get into mine."

"No," he tells me quickly. "Stay. And send a picture. It was one thing when I imagined you in your bed . . . but to think of you laying in _mine_?"

I move back up the bed until I'm leaning against his fluffy pillows and run my fingers through my hair a few times before I take the picture and send it. "Okay, you're turn," I tell him, starting to get into this.

My phone alerts me to a message. I see that Edward has sent me two pictures, the first being of him sitting up in bed, his upper body naked while his lower half remains covered by the bed linens, and the second is . . .

"Oh my!" I exclaim, heat filling my cheeks quickly. Even though my phone's three-and-a-half inch screen doesn't do it justice, I'm unable to tear my eyes away from the image. While it's true I'd much rather see it in person, the picture that Edward has just sent me of his hand wrapped around his erection does what I'm sure he intended it to do; I'm so beyond turned on that I find myself squirming.

Reluctantly, I bring my phone back to my ear. "That was . . . unexpected. But aren't you worried about someone hacking into our phones and seeing that?"

Edward laughs. "You plan on keeping it?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, you'll probably be travelling more in the future, so I'll need something to remember you by," I joke.

"And my cock is how you'll remember me? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or somewhat offended," he quips playfully.

"Oh," I respond. "Definitely flattered. It's not everyone's"—I take a breath—"_cock_ I find myself wanting to stare at all day long."

"Jesus, Bella," he groans into the phone. "I wish I was there with you."

"Me too," I whisper softly. "Right here next to me in your very large and comfortable bed."

"Wait, maybe I can be," he says suddenly, jarring me from the haze his seductive voice is constantly pulling over me. "You ever use FaceTime on your phone?"

"Um, no. Not on purpose, anyway." Truthfully, I never really understood why one would_ want_ to video message. I mean, the great thing about a normal phone call is that you can be crawling right out of bed in the morning, hair everywhere, and they don't know any better. But with video chatting, you have to prep as though you're going to be seeing this person—because you will be.

"I don't know . . ." I tell him, somewhat skeptical about this idea.

"Come on, it'll be like we're together." His argument is compelling, and I find myself wavering. "If it helps, this would be a first time for me as well."

Truthfully, he had me at _"maybe I can be,"_ but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "Okay," I reply, feeling oddly excited about this. "Let's do it."

"Yeah?"

I laugh. "You better do it before I change my mind."

"Okay!" Behind the excitement in his voice, I hear the ruffling of his bedding as I assume he's sitting up quickly. "I'll see you in a second."

We disconnect our phone call, and not two seconds later my phone is ringing with an incoming FaceTime chat. It's silly to feel as nervous as I do, but I take a deep breath and answer the call. The minute Edward's face appears on my screen, I exhale and smile, only to be met with his perfect grin.

"Hey," I say.

"Hello, beautiful. See, isn't this better than just talking on the phone?" he asks.

"Actually, it's pretty cool. How's the hotel?" I ask, studying his face.

Edward tilts his head to one side in a half shrug. "It's okay. Lonely, but okay. I'm just glad I'll only be here for a couple of days." His melancholy expression soon changes until he's smirking devilishly. "How's my bed?"

The gleam in his eye excites me, and I smile, sinking down lower onto the bed until my head is lying on the pillows. "Mmmm . . . Cozy."

"I have to admit, the sight of you lying in my bed excites me," he confesses.

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Oh yeah. Makes me wish even more that I was there next to you."

Feeling a little more confident in my sexuality, I find the courage to take this conversation to the next level. "And if you were . . . what then?"

His smile widens, clearly loving that I've shown a little initiative in our latest escapade together. "Well, I'd probably start by letting my hands explore your beautiful body. Slowly."

Needing to feel the sensation of his words, I bring my hand to my neck, slowly trailing it down until I'm cupping one of my breasts and teasing the nipple through my top. I moan as I release the pressure and move across to the other.

My eyes fall closed as I continue to pinch and tease my nipples. "That's good," I whisper, pretending that it's Edward's hand on my body right now. "I like that."

"Me, too, baby," he agrees hoarsely. I open my eyes and look back at my phone to see that he's very focused on what I'm doing. "And me? What would you do if I was right there next to you?"

I stare at his image on my phone, wide-eyed and suddenly a little nervous. "Um . . . I'd . . ." I _know_ what I would do if he were here with me right now, but to put it into words? My face is slowly heating up just _thinking_ about it.

"Tell me," he instructs, his voice low and velvety.

Remembering how he reacted when I said _cock_ earlier, I find the courage to tell him exactly what I'd do. Honestly, it's almost like an out of body experience, because the old Bella would never in a million years say what starts pouring out of my mouth.

"First, I'd wrap my hand around your hard cock . . ." He groans, and I can hear the blanket rustling as I assume he touches himself. "Then I'd begin to stroke you slowly, first going down and then gliding back up." I have to take a minute to breathe, because even just telling him aloud what I'd do to him is getting me hot and bothered. When I've regrouped a little, I continue. "I'd repeat this over and over and _over_ again until you're breathing hard and your knees begin to quake."

"Holy fuck," he breathes out, the phone slipping from his hand. Pride swells throughout my entire body at being able to elicit such a strong reaction from him.

I'm not sure where my next words come from, but I go with them, because . . . _HO-LEE hell . . ._

"I want to watch."

Edward smirks lazily, his green eyes hooded with lust. "Yeah?" My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I nod. "Me too," he says. "My alarm clock has a dock for your phone. Set it up and then move across the bed so I can see more of you."

My hands begin to tremble with excitement, and I do as he says, because, quite frankly, I like when he's just a little bit bossy . . . just a little bit, though. "Okay," I tell him once I've got my phone secure on the dock and slide across the bed. "Can you still hear me?"

"Perfectly." I watch as Edward perches his phone against something. "Now, where were we?"

"I believe my hand was wrapped around your cock," I remind him, the word coming easier and easier each time I say it.

I watch as Edward slips both of his hands beneath the tented white sheet, but he stops and looks at me. "I feel like you're a tad overdressed, gorgeous."

I shift my body toward him and kneel on the bed, eyeing him coyly. "Oh?"

"Definitely. I'm going to need you to strip if you want me to remove the sheet."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Cullen," I say, pushing myself to the side of the bed and standing up.

"Mmm . . . Mr. Cullen? Are you implying that you'd like to try a little role-playing, _Miss Swan_?"

Crossing my arms in front of me, I grip the hem of my top and begin to raise it. "Perhaps . . . but not tonight. One new experience at a time, here, pal." I toss my shirt to the side and stand still for a moment, letting Edward absorb the sight before him.

"Fuck," he mutters, and I can see his hands move beneath the sheet slightly. This makes the tingle between my legs intensify, and I yearn for his touch to help bring me to release. "I miss your tits so fucking much."

Hooking my thumbs into my shorts, I shake my head at him. "You have a very dirty mouth when you're horny, don't ya?" I tease jovially.

"If it offends you, I could try to stop—I make no promises, though. Very little blood and oxygen are flowing to my brain right now."

I laugh, pushing my shorts down over my hips slowly. "No, I like it. It . . . turns me on."

"How so?" he asks, his hands moving beneath the sheet again. "Tell me."

Thinking back to last Tuesday on the couch, I know exactly what it is he wants to hear. "It makes me . . . wet."

"God damn," he curses, his head falling back onto the pillows as he strokes himself beneath the sheet again.

I lick my lips, watching as the sheet moves every time he goes up his length and then back down. Watching a man masturbate isn't something I can say I ever wanted to do, but to know he is imagining my hand wrapped around his erection leaves me short of breath.

I push my shorts down a little further, exposing the bottom of my hip bones. "Okay, you need to move that fucking sheet," I tell him, surprising myself with my language.

Edward growls, grips the corner of the sheet closest to him, and yanks it from his body as I let my shorts fall to the floor. Edward eyes me appreciatively, and I blush, fighting the urge to hop onto the bed and hide under the blankets; this is all still so new to me that my old instincts still tend to pop up.

"So fucking gorgeous," he growls quietly, making my legs quiver. "Okay, I need you on the bed, please."

Inhaling a shaky breath, I crawl back onto his bed—completely naked—and position myself far enough away that he can see me, and I can still see him. His hand is still moving over his erection: up, down, up, over the head, and then back down. I fight back a whimper as I watch, pressing my legs together in hopes that it might help the deep, sensual throbbing that's fast becoming my primary focus.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Edward asks, a knowing smirk on his face.

"I want you here," I confess in a quiet voice. "I miss you . . . miss the way you touch me . . ."

"I am there," he tells me, his tone suggestive and a little hypnotic. "I _am_ touching you. I've got your perfect tits in my hands right now while you continue to rub my cock." He moans loudly at the same time I do. "God, baby, I love the way your hand feels around my dick."

Hearing him talk like this makes me whimper, and I bring my hands back to my breasts, grasping and squeezing them in my palms as I try to replicate the way Edward's hands felt on them last week. "You're so sexy, Bella," he tells me, spurring me on.

"I . . . I want you to touch me, Edward," I plead, getting swept up in the fantasy that he really is here with me—touching me, making me feel so,_ so _good. "_Please?_"

"Of course, beautiful," he agrees. "Close your eyes and feel my hands move down your body, sweetheart. Down over your ribs, over the soft skin of your abdomen, until they finally reach the warmth between your legs."

I follow everything he says, my fingers stopping the instant they settle between my thighs, and my eyes open to see him watching me raptly, still stroking his erection slowly and prolonging his own pleasure.

"What's wrong?" he asks, confused by my sudden stage fright.

"It's just . . . I've never . . ."

I don't even have to finish talking before he groans pleasurably. "Oh, Bella. You really do spoil me—letting me share in all of these firsts with you . . ." My half-confession could have very well ruined this moment, but Edward has this way of making my sexual inexperience sound like it's the most erotic thing on the planet to him.

"I slip my fingers between the soft lips of your pussy."

My breath shudders, and my fingers twitch to do what he says. "Edward . . . I don't—" I sigh.

"I slip my fingers between the soft lips of your pussy," he repeats a little firmer, and this time I comply. "That's my girl."

My hand moves tentatively between my legs as I'm still not quite sure what I'm doing. It doesn't take long to figure out, though, and I soon find a rhythm, moving my fingers back and forth through my slick arousal and shifting my hips up into my—I mean, _Edward's _touch.

"Oh god, Edward," I moan brazenly, my fingers moving over the little nub at the top of my sex. "This feels amazing." My toes curl each time I move over that swollen little bundle of nerves, so I decide to focus on it for a minute, really liking the electrifying sensation that moves beneath my skin.

I can feel the familiar coils in my belly beginning to tighten. My fingers move faster, press harder, until I roll onto my side and begin to cry out when I feel my orgasm teetering on the edge of what feels like an endless chasm. "Oh . . . _GOD!_" I cry out.

"Bella," Edward moans across from me, forcing me to open my eyes again and drawing my gaze to him. His hand is moving over his cock faster and harder, and I increase the speed of my fingers to meet his every stroke, feeling another orgasm quickly swelling within me. "Look at me, Bella," he gently instructs, his eyebrows pulling together, and his lips parting slightly. I know this look—seen it once before.

"Edward . . ." My voice is hardly recognizable, both higher in pitch and a little bit hoarse as I near my climax. Every muscle in my body tenses, my finger moving in tiny, precise circles, and Edward's name echoes off of every wall in his bedroom as I come completely undone.

Across from me, I watch through hooded lids as Edward growls, his hips jerking into his hand, and I revel in the look of pure satisfaction and bliss on his face as he comes.

We're both breathing pretty heavily and staring lazily at one another through our cell phones because we have absolutely no energy for anything else—or at least, I don't; Edward could be ready for round two for all I know . . . okay, so I'm sure I could be convinced, too.

With a sigh, I roll onto my stomach and pull myself toward my phone, picking it up off the dock so I can get a better view of Edward. I only get a brief glance at his post-orgasmic body before he tugs the sheet back up over him and grabs his phone also.

"Well that was incredible," he says.

I nod slowly, my body's central nervous system still trying to re-route all of its circuits. "I'd say that's a bit of an understatement. It was un-fucking-believable."

Edward throws his head back against his pillow and chuckles. "I'm beginning to think I've been a bad influence on you."

"Nah." I shrug. "Like you said earlier: I've got very little blood and oxygen flowing to my brain right now. I don't think I can be held accountable for any foul language that might escape for at least the next eight to ten hours."

"Fair enough," Edward concurs before exhaling heavily. "Friday cannot come soon enough. I can't wait until I can hold you in my arms again."

"I know. It's torture being so far away from you," I agree wholeheartedly. "Though, I suppose we've just proven we can make it work."

"Indeed."

I can't stifle the yawn that builds quickly, and I cover my mouth. "I'm sorry," I quickly apologize.

Edward shakes his head and smiles. "Don't be. It's late. I'm tired too."

I push myself up until I'm sitting on the bed. "I should gather my clothes and head to bed. I've got another early day tomorrow."

Quick to reply, Edward says, "No. Stay in my bed. I quite like the idea of you sleeping there after watching you."

Warmth blooms beneath the surface of my skin, but I fight the urge to drop my eyes from his. "No need to be embarrassed," he tells me. "You were really quite spectacular. Definitely something I'd like to see again . . . in person."

I grin impishly. "Play your cards right . . ."

Edward laughs, perhaps a little too boisterously for a hotel room. "Well, I should let you get some sleep before we find ourselves in a repeat performance. While I have no major qualms with that idea, I don't want us to be exhausted come morning because we couldn't control ourselves."

"Yeah. I think that would be best," I quickly agree, yawning into my hand again.

"Sweet dreams, Bella."

It feels as though my heart actually skips a beat, and I smile. "They will be now."

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><p><strong>AN2: Well, that was fun ;-) What did you all think? We're getting closer to their first time. I promise!**

**Special shout-out to CullensTwiMistress, whose chapter 15 review made me LOL so much that I HAD to include it in this chapter ;-) (something about sleeping with dogs and getting fleas, for those who don't want to review stalk to find it. I figured it was something our Alice would say :-P)**

**This week's Recs:**

**Serenity's Prayer by lady libre**

**SUMMARY: **When Edward takes Bella into the forest after her disastrous birthday party in New Moon, Bella's reaction is nothing like he expected. Will this be the end of their love or will they find a new path to forever?

**My Mate by rachaelprincess**

**SUMMARY: **_She was lost in him, the taste of his blood and the feel of his skin against her mouth. She acknowledged that from this moment on there would be no turning back._

After 300 years, Edward finds his mate in young vampire Bella. But the mating blood rituals of vampires will test their strength and belief in each other. Graphic lemons and violence.

**Be sure to leave them some lovely reviews! They work hard for them!**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	17. Offside

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

**Okay, so Edward's been harassing me for another chance to be heard. You guys up for it? All right, I'll let him out to play.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 17. Offside<strong>

My plane arrives in Phoenix ten minutes before schedule, and while I would give anything to rush straight home and see Bella, I know it's not the logical thing to do. Jasper's flight is scheduled to land in just under two hours, so I would get home, have about ten minutes to spend with Bella, and then I'd have to head back to the airport.

No, it's not logical at all, unfortunately.

On my way to the luggage carousel, I pull out my phone and type out a text to Bella to let her know I've landed safely.

_You have no idea how happy I am to hear that! _she responds quickly.

She offers to come pick me up, but I tell her that I've got a town car set up for Jasper and me once he arrives so I can take him to his hotel before coming home around eight.

_I'll be counting down the hours . . ._

To pass the time, Bella and I text back and forth for the next hour and a half. I'm happy to hear she doesn't work tonight and that she's trying to be patient—and failing miserably, she tells me—while she waits for me to walk through the front door.

It's been a very long two days, but thankfully Bella and I have been able to make the most of it. In fact, I'd say that it's possible we may have grown a little closer. The memory of Bella lying in my bed on Wednesday night plays over and over in my head. Granted, this probably isn't the best time to be recalling the events of that night, given what it's doing to me, but the truth of the matter is, I've thought of little else since.

I'm a man possessed . . . or perhaps _ob_sessed?

Both. Definitely both; it's rare that Bella's not running through my mind in some way or another these days. Her smile and her bright, inquisitive eyes, her intelligence and sense of humour, her innocence—all of these are things I've come to admire and . . . well, love about her.

I have yet to tell her that—the loving her part—but I'd like to think that she's fully aware of it on some level, and maybe even feels the same way. It took me by surprise when I realized it—especially considering we haven't been together very long—but I accepted it whole-heartedly because it feels right. More right than any other relationship I'd ever been in, actually. It's almost as though I've been reborn; everything seemed a little bit brighter, smelled and tasted a little sweeter, and sounded a little clearer.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I smile to see that Bella's sent me another message. I open my phone and retrieve the message, my eyes widening and frantically looking around me when I realize it's a picture . . . a picture of Bella holding my bed sheet up to what can only be her very naked chest, and there's a caption that reads, _tick tock_.

Because I'm a guy, and clearly not thinking with the right part of my body in a crowded airport lobby, I enlarge the picture—you know, just to be sure she's _really_ naked and not pretending, of course. Sure enough, I'm pretty sure I can see the outline of her nipples, which naturally invokes a very strong reaction from my cock, and I shift in my seat.

I'm basically nose-to-screen with my phone when it rings, startling me a little. I accept the call and place the phone to my ear, but before I can say anything, Bella's sweet voice fills my ear. "Did you get my picture?"

Chuckling, I nod. "Indeed I did, beautiful." I glance around to make sure no one is within hearing distance. No one seems to be paying attention, so I continue. "Kind of unfair to send me something like that when I'm still well over an hour from seeing you, don't you think?"

Bella hums. "Nah, I don't think so. I was just giving you a tiny preview of what awaits you when you get here . . . Though, I am thinking of hopping in that giant Jacuzzi tub you've been keeping secret."

I clench my eyes shut as the very vivid image of Bella soaking in my over-sized tub begins to burn into my brain. "Please, don't let that be a joke," I whisper, making Bella laugh.

"Well, yeah, it was . . . but now that I know you'd probably be okay with it . . ." She lets her words trail off, and I groan.

"I think it's official . . . I've completely corrupted you."

"Not at all," she assures me sweetly. "You've just liberated a part of me that's been severely suppressed." There's a pause, and Bella sighs. "And I don't know about you, but I kind of like it."

"Oh, I definitely like it," I quickly tell her. "It's been absolutely amazing watching you come out of your shell with each and every new thing we try."

"Like the other night?" she inquires coyly, and I can almost picture her biting her full lower lip and twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger.

"For one," I say with a quiet laugh so as not to draw unwanted attention.

As I look up, a familiar face comes into view. Making his way through the hall, Jasper smiles and tips his head upon seeing me. I'd been so absorbed in my conversation with Bella that I hadn't even realized his plane had arrived. "I've got to let you go for now, sweetheart," I tell Bella. "Jasper just showed up. I'll be home within the hour, though."

Bella sighs happily. "All right. I'll . . . uhh . . ." Bella pauses, laughing softly—almost nervously, which only serves to pique my intrigue as to the reasoning behind it. ". . . see you soon."

I don't have long to think about it before Jasper is right in front of me, holding out his hand. "Mr. Cullen," he greets in his thick southern accent.

"_Edward_," I correct him with a smile, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "How was your flight?"

Jasper tips his head cordially. "It was fine, thank you."

"Good to hear." Motioning toward the luggage carousel, I say, "Should we collect your bags and take you to your hotel?"

After collecting Jasper's suitcase, we head for the exit where the town car I've arranged is waiting for us. The driver helps us load the bags into the trunk before we all hop in, and I tell him we're headed to the Biltmore, one of the top ten five-star hotels in the Phoenix area.

While we drive, I fill Jasper in on the meetings we've lined up with the Diamondbacks' team manager and coach. While he's more than excited for everything, I am sure to tell him that this trip isn't all about business, that I'd like to have him over to my place for lunch the following day, and about the paintball outing we're trying to set up.

When we arrive at the hotel, I walk inside with Jasper and check him in. I give the concierge my company credit card to keep on file and turn to Jasper. "Please expense all meals to your room. The agency is taking care of all costs during your stay here in Phoenix."

I can see that Jasper isn't entirely comfortable with this, but I am able to convince him that it's our responsibility to make sure he's well taken care of while here. He agrees, taking his keycard from the gentleman behind the desk, and grabs his bag. I tell Jasper to call my cell phone if he needs absolutely anything, and then I turn for the door and get into the town car.

I contemplate calling or texting Bella to tell her I'm on my way, but then decide that surprising her will be a lot more fun. As we make our way through the city, I begin to wonder where I'll find her: in my bed or in my tub . . . not that it matters much, because either option will be fine by me.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't even realize we've arrived until the driver turns around. "Mr. Cullen? We're here."

"Right," I say, shaking my head. "Thank you."

The driver grabs my bags from the trunk, and I tip him before walking up the front steps and unlocking the front door. The house is extremely quiet as I step inside and set my bag down. "Bella?" I call out, looking first in the living room as I remember finding her asleep on the couch the last time I returned home from a trip.

She's not there, so I head upstairs, still convinced she's waiting for me up there. I check my room first, really hoping to find her in there, and am disappointed when I don't. She's not in my bathroom either, so I head across the hall to her room, only to find it empty also.

Confused, I head back downstairs and check the kitchen. It isn't until I look out the window that I see her sitting on one of the lounge chairs with a textbook open in her lap and her hair piled up on top of her head in one of those messy ponytail things.

I watch her for a minute as she taps the eraser of her pencil on the page of her textbook, and I smile when she raises her head and looks out toward the desert like she's contemplating something she just read. The minute she slowly begins to turn around, smiling wider than I've ever seen, I suspect I was wrong and that maybe she could sense me watching her.

Without a second thought, she tosses her book to the ground and races for the sliding glass door. I meet her out on the patio, pulling her into my arms and kissing her over and over again as she throws her arms around my neck and giggles.

"Why didn't you call?" she asks quietly while my lips trail the length of her bare neck.

Even though I really don't want to, I stop kissing her and look her in the eye. "I think a better question is why aren't _you_ waiting for me upstairs?"

Shrugging, she looks up at the sky all coy and innocent. "I didn't want you to think I've become predictable."

I laugh and lift her up off the ground. "Bella, you're far from predictable," I assure her. "In fact, you've done nothing but surprise me from the day we met."

"Again with the flattery," she quips playfully, tickling the back of my neck with her fingers.

The sensation of her fingers moving at different times, like she's plucking the strings of a guitar, educes a trail of goosebumps along my spine, and I shudder. She giggles before kissing me lightly. "Ticklish?"

I arch an eyebrow. "Is this really a game you wish to instigate?"

"Maybe . . ." She pauses, a smirk tugging at the right corner of her mouth. "Unless there's something a little more . . . _gratifying_ that you can think of."

I pretend to contemplate this for a moment, letting my right hand move down over her ass until it reaches her thigh. I pull her leg up around my hip, and she shifts to bring the other one up to mirror it, hooking her ankles behind me to stay in place. "I think _a little_ might be undershooting just how gratified you're about to be."

"Well now," she says, her voice low and breathy. "Don't oversell yourself or anything."

"Sultry _and f_unny . . . a dangerous combination, Miss Swan." I grip her backside a little firmer, pulling her against me and making her whimper before I press my lips to hers, hard and passionate.

Her hands find their way into my hair, tugging lightly as she holds me close, and her lips part until her soft, warm tongue is firm and insistent against my lower lip. At her persistence, I deepen the kiss—okay, so it's not like I really fall victim to her coercion; if she hadn't made the first move, there's a two hundred percent chance I would have.

Bella pulls her face back, her dark eyes dancing back and forth between mine as she pants breathlessly. "Let's go upstairs," she suggests, and I nod, setting her back on her feet.

Her hands loosen in my hair, moving slowly down the length of my arms until she's holding one of my hands and leading me inside. My eyes never leave her as I follow closely, and I definitely notice the subtle change in her. While she's always struck me as a confident woman, it's obvious that what she went through with Jacob altered her perception of herself. It pleases me to see that I've been able to awaken that confidence and maybe even elevated it a few levels.

I make sure to lock the patio door before we leave the kitchen, and I check the front door—because we can apparently never be too safe in that regard. Once the house is secure, I follow Bella upstairs. I'm curious as to whose room she'll choose as we continue down the hall, but remain silent and let her maintain control of the situation.

She stops in the hall, right between our bedroom doors, and turns around, smiling. "Any preference?"

I take a step forward, cupping her face in my hand, and lean down to kiss her again. "Not really."

With a nod, Bella tugs me through the door to my room, stopping next to my bed and raising her arms above her head in a silent plea to remove her top. Taking my time, I pull her shirt off, almost falling over when I realize she's not wearing a bra. My eyes travel down her body and stop on the waist of her jeans; there's a good chance I could suffer some kind of stroke if I find out she's going commando down there too.

I've been hanging out with Emmett too long, because even just thinking about the kind of "stroke" I could suffer in the next few minutes makes me chuckle.

Bella eyes me quizzically. "Care to share with the class, Mr. Cullen?"

_Holy fuck, are we about to role-play?_

"Holy fuck, are we about to role-play?" It's possible I've already suffered the stroke, because I have no brain filter whatsoever. I say what I think, and I think what I say.

Imagining Bella as the naughty teacher—or better yet, a naughty librarian—makes it even harder . . . both my cock and the ability to concentrate, if I'm being completely honest.

Now Bella laughs, reaches out, and tugs my own shirt up my body. "You're really itching for that to happen, huh?" she teases, forcing my arms up and removing my shirt. "How about we put a pin in that idea and revisit it a little further down the road?"

"Sounds like a plan." Reaching out quickly, I pull Bella toward me and toss her down on my bed. Her delighted squeal fills the room, and she bounces lightly on the mattress, several pieces of her hair falling from the ponytail thing on top of her head and framing her face.

I stare at her for a minute, letting my eyes roam over her naked upper body as she presses her jean-covered knees together and smirks at me. After removing my jeans, I wrap my hands around her slender ankles and pull her closer to the edge of the bed before letting my hands move up her legs, stopping only when I reach her button.

Her eyes move from mine down to where my fingers slowly slip the metal disk through the eyelet, and she whimpers when I slide the zipper open—one agonizing tooth at a time. When the zipper meets the stops at the bottom, I place a kiss above the line of the panties I now know she's wearing, and her abdomen quivers under my lips. This brings a smile to my face, and I hook my fingers behind the denim and tug her jeans down her hips.

Eagerly, Bella lifts her ass off the bed to aid me in removing her pants, and once I liberate her lean legs from them, I toss them somewhere behind me—I think I hear something from my bedside table fall to the floor, but I can't be too bothered by it right now because Bella is almost completely naked.

I lower myself on top of her, propping most of my weight on my arms, and she brings her legs up around me so tightly that her pussy grazes my cock. The instinct is one that can no longer be fought, and I thrust my hips forward, seeking out the gratification I have so desperately wanted for the last few weeks.

Bella moans, her hands grasping my face and pulling me toward her, kissing me hard and digging her heels into my ass to force me forward again. Naturally, I comply.

It's becoming increasingly more difficult as the days go by to justify why we're waiting—especially when I have her ninety-nine percent naked and I'm between her legs. I want her—badly—but I don't want to rush into the next part of our relationship; there's still so much to show her.

I begin trailing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and then stop to show her breasts equal attention—Goddamn, I missed them. Bella's back arches up off the bed as I pull one of her nipples into my mouth and swirl my tongue around it, and she moans breathlessly, her fingers threading into my hair to hold me in place . . .

But I have other plans in mind as I release her hardened nipple and continue down the swell of her chest and over her ribs. She's writhing beneath me as I place alternating firm and tender kisses along the smooth flesh of her abdomen and trail my tongue along the top of her hipbone.

Bella is panting, and I glance up to see her staring down at me, looking somewhat nervous. Smiling, I slowly slide my hands up under her thighs and hook my fingers into the sides of her panties, easing them off her. I keep my gaze locked on hers, gauging her reaction, as I pull them from around her ankles and add them to the clothing that already litters my bedroom floor. I waste no time in reclaiming my place between her legs, the subtle scent of her arousal piquing my desire for her, and I press a kiss against the skin of her inner thigh, slowly making my way toward her pussy.

I alternate between kissing, licking, and nibbling the soft flesh of her thigh, drawing out the anticipation for when I finally make it to my intended destination. The minute my tongue barely grazes the sensitive flesh of Bella's pussy, she gasps sharply, and her foot slams against my chest, pushing me back.

"W-wait," she pants, propping herself up on her elbows and looking down at me, appearing somewhat panicked. "I don't . . . That's . . . _No_."

"No?" I inquire, confused by her very strong reaction. "Why not?"

She lets her foot fall from my chest, drops her eyes from mine, and looks down at the bed. "I-I guess it kind of . . . I don't know. I don't really like it."

Her confession forces me back until I'm sitting on my heels, staring at her with bewilderment. "What the hell do you mean you don't _like_ it?"

Bella shrugs. "I just don't. It felt . . . weird and rushed in the past, I guess."

I run my hand over the length of my face before dropping it back to my lap and shaking my head. "Good god, Bella. While I realize now's probably not the best time to have this discussion, I have to wonder what the hell was going through that jackass's head."

Bella laughs lightly, glancing at me through the corner of her eyes, and I feel a little better at having relaxed her—even if only minutely. I push up off my heels and run my hands up her thighs again, tugging her closer to the edge of the bed. Bella sits up and looks down at me, her fingers pushing my hair back before her hands fall to my shoulders.

"Do you trust me?" I ask, kissing her lightly on the lips and squeezing her thighs.

Bella nods in response. "Implicitly."

"I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable," I assure her, moving my hand toward the inside of her thigh, and she sighs the minute my fingers slide through her arousal, making me smile. "So if this is absolutely something you don't want to do, I won't press the matter . . ." Slowly, I ease a finger inside her, making her moan and curl her fingers into my shoulders. "But if you'll let me, I promise to make it an experience you'll never forget."

Her eyebrows knit together, and I can sense she's a little uneasy about the idea, but she soon nods her agreement. "Okay," she says quietly. "But if I don't enjoy it—"

"Just tell me to stop, and I will," I promise, kissing her once more before easing her back down onto the bed with my free hand.

I continue to pleasure Bella with my fingers, causing her to sigh and moan as her hands fall to her sides and clutch the blanket tightly. Excited, I take my previous position between her legs and smile as I press a delicate kiss to the inside of each thigh, slowly removing my hand from between her legs. I lift her legs, resting them on my shoulders while I move forward and lightly run my tongue over her silky flesh.

My cock hardens even more than should be possible as I slide my tongue back and forth through her sex—teasing her, pleasuring her, tasting her. When the tip of my tongue swirls around her hyper-sensitive clit, her hips jerk upward, and she gasps sharply, drawing my eyes up to find her staring down at me. She doesn't say anything, though, as she bites her lip and urges me to continue with a shaky nod.

I go slowly at first, making sure to ease her into this—to show her that this should be one of her favourite sexual experiences. I say "one of" because I'd like to think that our finally making love will top this ten-fold.

Bella's breathing becomes ragged as I continue, and her legs tighten around my shoulders, pulling me closer. I take this as an invitation to add a little more pressure, and when I do, she moans and falls back onto the bed, tugging the blankets and thrusting her hips wantonly against me.

"Oh _gaaaawd_," she groans, her voice strained and her legs trembling; she's close to her climax, and this makes me feel pretty damn smug.

I move my tongue back down her slick pussy and thrust it into her, making her writhe and mewl above me as her muscles tighten around it. Bella's hips continue to rock against my face, her clit lightly brushing my nose each time she moves. Her cries of passion are mounting, and her legs are beginning to tremble even more before she raises the right one and lays her foot flat on my shoulder. I'm certain she's going to try and push me away, but am proven wrong when I feel her fingers thread into my hair and hear her strained pleas of "Don't stop. Please, god, don't stop."

I replace my tongue with my fingers and begin pumping them in and out, curling them every so often in hopes of making her come. In the meantime, I resume swiping my tongue over her clit, occasionally grazing my teeth over the sensitive flesh and feeling her entire body tremble when I do.

The need to watch her as she falls over the precipice of her release is all-consuming, so I pull my face from between her legs. "Bella," I whisper hoarsely. "Look at me, baby."

Without a second thought, she listens, pushing herself up until she's leaning back on her arms, sitting mostly upright and looking down at me between her legs. Slowly, I pump my fingers in and out of her while I continue to lick and nip at her slick, sensitive flesh—our eyes locked at all times. She pants, and her eyebrows pull together with intensity as her mouth drops open. Her pants mount to moans and whimpers, and her abdomen begins to quiver and contract while her pussy clenches tightly around my fingers—_so motherfucking tight_—and she comes completely undone above me.

The sound of her soft, yet staggered breathing fills the room as I slowly withdraw from between her thighs, wiping her arousal from my lower face. I glance over her features, noticing the subtle pink hue to her cheeks, her hair now mostly loose and falling around her face, and how her chest heaves as she tries to regulate her breathing.

As usual, she's absolutely stunning post-orgasm.

"That was . . ." she says breathlessly, her eyelids heavy.

I chuckle, pushing off of my knees and leaning on the bed so our faces are level. "Amazing," I finish, and she nods.

Her eyes widen as I lean in for a kiss, darting quickly from my own to my lips, and then back again. She looks like she wants to say something, but then closes her mouth and brings her hand up, laying it along my jaw. Her thumb gently moves over my bottom lip, and her fingers curl slightly against my face, drawing me forward as she hesitantly leans in to kiss me.

The kiss is firm, yet chaste, and Bella pulls back before I get a chance to deepen it. The uncertainty seems to be gone from her deep brown eyes, and she smiles before pulling me to her roughly. Keeping her lips on mine, she slips her other hand into my boxers and wraps it around my erection. I grunt against her ravenous lips, thrusting my hips into her hand once before she extracts it. I'm momentarily confused until she starts using that hand to push my underwear down over my ass and thighs.

And now we're both completely naked.

Bella stops kissing me, taking a moment to look at me before she scoots back on the bed. I stand before her, suddenly nervous. This was it. We were finally going to make lo—

"Shit," I mutter, looking toward my bedside table.

"What?" Bella asks softly, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

"I don't have any condoms," I confess, suddenly kicking myself for not always being prepared. I mean, wasn't that what they taught you in boy scouts? To always be prepared? Sure, this probably wasn't the scenario they had in mind when coming up with that little gem, but I feel like it should apply.

"Oh." Bella pushes herself up onto her knees and shrugs. "I'm . . . uh, on the shot . . . so maybe we don't . . .?"

I stumble back a couple steps. Is she seriously considering letting me go bareback? Holy shit, the mere thought of how amazing that would feel almost makes me come where I stand. Thankfully I don't, because that's just not something one can recover from with grace and dignity still intact.

I think about what Bella's suggested for a minute, only considering it less than fifty percent—like, _forty-nine_ percent—and while I would love nothing more than for that to fucking happen, I just can't do that to her. Sure, we've probably got a next-to-nothing chance of an accident happening, but I can't risk it. _We_ can't risk it.

"Baby, have you ever _not _used protection?" Bella shakes her head, her cheeks filling with colour. "Then we're not going to start now, okay?"

She nods, laughing quietly and shaking her head like she's just realized how foolish that would have been. "Right. Of course." Slowly, she brings her eyes back to mine. "As much as it kills me, we'll wait . . ." Her gaze drifts south, and she arches an eyebrow. "In the meantime, why don't you let me help you take care of that?"

Seeing her become so incredibly bold and confident over the last couple weeks—while still somewhat surprising—has truly been the sexiest thing I've ever experienced. Sure, she's still a little uncertain about some things, but it's endearing.

Smiling, I crawl up onto the bed next to her and press my lips firmly to hers. She sighs softly, laying her hand flat on my chest and letting it trail down until she's wrapped it around my cock again. She only strokes it twice before pulling away again, and I watch as she moves her hand between her own legs. I fight the urge to come—again—as I watch her move her hand back and forth several times before returning it to my dick.

"Fuck," I growl, reveling in the sensation of her hand gliding with ease over my cock, and kiss her neck roughly. "I love watching you touch yourself."

"Mmm," she hums softly, squeezing her hand and moving it up and over the tip of my erection. "I like it when you watch. It makes me so . . . _horny._"

Yup. It's official: She's going to kill me . . . though, it's probably the best way I can think of to go.

My hips thrust forcefully into her hand, and I feel my lower body tense in preparation of my release. "Damn it, Bella," I moan against the damp flesh of her throat. "I'm gonna . . . _oh . . . god . . ._"

"Do it," she breathes, squeezing and pumping, pumping and squeezing. Up . . . down . . . up and fucking down. I meet every downward stroke with a push of my hips, imagining the moment that it's not Bella's hand that I'm sheathed in—not that this is bad. No, it's still pretty fucking amazing.

And that's all it takes: one simple command from Bella and my entire body goes rigid, my hips moving in short, erratic thrusts.

Feeling completely exhausted, I let my body fall back on the bed as I try to catch my breath. Beside me, Bella giggles lightly and presses her warm, naked body flush against mine, laying her head on my chest and placing her hand over my heart. In that moment, I'm completely content, staring up at the roof and letting the endorphins from my orgasm wash over me.

We remain like this for a moment before Bella makes a move to get up. I grab her wrist, holding her hand in place, and look up at her. "Where do you think you're going?"

She blushes. "Um, to wash up?" I instantly release her, knowing that I can't really argue with that—especially considering the fact that I'm a complete animal and came on her . . . again. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply—"

Bella laughs and leans over me to kiss me before crawling off the bed. "No, no. You didn't." I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as she makes her way to my bathroom. It pleases me to see that unlike the night we messed around on the couch, she leaves her clothes on the floor and makes the trek completely nude.

Of course, this is both a good and bad thing. Good, because I get to watch her walk around my room naked. Bad, because my dick doesn't understand that it's supposed to be resting now. If I'm not careful, Bella's going to think I'm utterly insatiable.

From the doorway, she turns around, and I yank my comforter over my lower body. "I'm actually a little hungry," she admits.

I know I should be looking at her face, but she's facing me—naked—so naturally I'm staring at her tits. "Oh yeah?" I ask.

"Hey," she says with a giggle, snapping her fingers. "My eyes are up here."

I laugh and shake my head before acting like a grown up and looking her in the eye. "Sorry. Hungry, huh?"

"Famished, actually. What do you say I meet you downstairs in a few?"

I nod. "Sounds good."

The minute Bella closes the bathroom door, I toss the blanket aside and pull on a pair of black pajama pants. Being it's after ten now, I just can't be bothered with jeans. I also decide to forego a shirt and head downstairs to see about something to eat.

When I open the fridge, I can see that Bella's gone grocery shopping. The fridge is stocked, making my decision a little more difficult. Taking the time into account, I decide on something light, and set to work washing and slicing some fruit and putting it on a plate.

By the time I set the plate on the counter, Bella has joined me, dressed in her little grey shorts and a blue t-shirt. "Hey," she greets, kissing me lightly and then taking her seat.

Before I join her, I grab a couple glasses of water for us. "Thanks," she says, reaching out and taking hers from me.

Sitting next to her, I take a sip of water and look over her features as she reaches for some of the fruit. She's fixed her hair, having taken it out of the ponytail and brushed it, her cheeks are still tinted a delicate shade of pink, and her lips—which are currently wrapped around a slice of peach quite suggestively—are still slightly plump and reddened from our passionate kissing.

Trying to _not_ imagine that peach slice as the tip of my dick, I clear my throat. "So, I have to admit, that's probably the best 'welcome home' I've ever received." My voice is a little hoarse, but I'm hoping Bella won't notice.

"Well, I guess I should be flattered, huh?" she asks with a soft giggle. "I'm just sorry we weren't able to go further."

"Actually, it's probably a good thing we didn't," I tell her honestly. This must confuse her, because she looks up at me with her right eyebrow arched, so I continue on in hopes of clarifying this for her. "I just think that before we make love, we should talk about your comfort levels."

"Oh."

"After you confessed to not being particularly fond of oral sex—even though I'd like to think I changed your mind"—I wink, and Bella blushes—"I'd hate to do something that could make you uncomfortable or push you past what you're ready for."

"Okay . . ." she says, drawing the word out a little longer than necessary before taking a drink of her water.

With a sigh, I clasp my hands together on the counter in front of me. "I realize this is an awkward conversation to be having, but given everything you've told me about your past with Jake, I think it would be best to lay all of our cards out on the table."

"Are you saying there are things you're uncomfortable with sexually?" she inquires, and I think I hear a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

I think about this for a moment before chuckling. "I suppose there are, but probably not as many as you'd think."

She gawks, her mouth falling open, and I can only assume she's running various scenarios through her head. "Like what?" she asks breathlessly.

"We'll get to that," I promise. "But first, I'd like to know where you're at."

"So, what? You want to know positions and stuff that I like?"

I shrug. "For starters. But also other things." She still seems confused, so I decide to elaborate a little. "Like role playing, light bondage, and other taboo things."

Her eyes widen even more. "You mean like S and M?"

"Oh, _god_ no," I assure her. "Of course, I'm not saying I would be opposed to tying you to my bed with one of my ties—or you tying me to the bed, for that matter—if that's something you're eventually comfortable with. But, you know, stuff like that."

Bella's eyes relax, and she nods slowly, letting her gaze fall to the water in her glass. "Um, I don't know. I guess I hadn't really thought about it before. It might be fun, I suppose. But not right away, right?"

"Of course not," I assure her quickly. "I just thought it might be a good idea to lay all of this out on the table so I don't do something in the heat of the moment that might freak you out."

"Well, I guess I'm not sure if anything makes me _overly_ nervous." She sighs. "I mean, it's not like Jake was overly concerned with making sex about me." There's a brief pause between us while Bella reaches for a slice of honey dew and stares at it for a minute. "One thing Jake seemed to want to try that I wasn't overly sure about was . . . um . . ." Her cheeks turn a deep shade of red, spreading up to the tips of her ears, and she bites her lip; she's nervous about continuing, so I reach out and lay a hand on her arm.

"Tell me," I gently encourage.

When she speaks again, her voice is quiet. "Um, anal sex."

Honestly, I'm not sure how to respond to that. I'm a man; of course the thought has crossed my mind—not recently, but it has. I've never suggested it to anyone I was dating in the past, because a lot of women look at you like you're crazy. Or, so I'm told.

I reach for my water and nod. "So you'd like to take that off the table?" I ask before taking a drink.

"You'd like anal on the table?" she asks, and I sputter on the water I've just begun to swallow.

As if realizing what just happened, Bella gasps and slaps her free hand over her mouth. "OH GOD!" she exclaims, her voice muffled behind her fingers. "I'm sorry . . . that's not what I meant! I just . . ." She lets her words hang, probably because she's not sure there's anything she can say to make it better.

While I know that's not exactly how she meant it, I've now got the image in my head of having anal sex with Bella on the table. It's depraved and so wrong, but I can't help the feelings it invokes . . . in my pants.

Waving my hand, I clear my throat. "No need to apologize. It's my fault. I knew what you meant, but—being a guy—I may have taken it too literally."

Awkward silence fills the kitchen, and Bella looks as though she's holding her breath. Reaching out, I cradle her face in my hand and smile. "Consider it a non-issue," I tell her.

Nodding, Bella lays her hand over mine and smiles devilishly. "Well, let's not count anything out just yet," she tells me coyly, surprising me yet again. "I think we've proven that anything can be pretty unbelievable as long as you're with the right person."

Her words sink in, and I can't seem to stop my smile from widening. "You're not wrong."

"Which is just a roundabout way of telling me I'm right," she quips, taking a bite of the honeydew she's still holding.

A little drop of juice glistens on her bottom lip, and I feel the deep impulse to remove it, pulling her to me, kissing her, and licking the tiny droplet of juice away. She hums as I sit back on my chair, and I wink at her, snatching the last half of the melon slice and popping it into my mouth.

Narrowing her eyes at me, she grabs a slice of cantaloupe this time and takes a small bite. Then she smiles and holds it out for me so I can have a bite. "So, I set up paintballing for tomorrow afternoon," Bella tells me, changing the subject entirely while I chew the sweet fruit. "I hope that's okay?"

I nod. "Perfect actually. I'll see if Jasper wants to come for lunch, and we can leave from here."

"Excellent." Bella's eyes seem to radiate her excitement, and I can't help but feel maybe slightly nervous about what I've potentially agreed to; she's the daughter of a cop, and she's owned up to knowing how to shoot. This could be very bad . . .

Bella carries on enthusiastically, causing my apprehension to fade minutely. "I seriously can't wait. When I was asking Dad for the number, I think he was a little sad that he couldn't come. But he's got to work."

I chuckle. "Well, I think that having one trained marksman in the game is more than enough, thank you very much," I tease.

Bella rolls her eyes. "Ha ha. It's not like he trained me to be some kind of sleeper agent. He only wanted me to be able to take care of myself."

I'll never get over how adorable she is when she gets defensive. "I'm just saying, if we had him along, none of us would stand a chance against the two of you."

"And you think you stand a chance with just me?" she asks genuinely, making me nervous all over again. "Well"—she stands from her chair and picks our empty plate up—"I guess tomorrow we'll find out."

"You don't scare me," I reply, not really believing it myself.

Bella turns her head to me while she places the plate in the dishwasher. "Hmm . . . Well, you really shouldn't have said that."

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><p><strong>AN2: I know you guys REALLY wanted them to have sex, right? Well, I felt it was important for them to have a talk about Bella's comfort levels before they take that step.**

**However, your patience will be rewarded in chapter 18. They can't be contained any longer ;-)**

**Please review! I'd love to know what you think!**

**No recs this week. I've been busy! :-P**

**xoxo**


	18. Bullseye

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

**Okay, so after A LOOOOOOOOOT of mulling around, I decided to stay on FFn (uncensored) until I get booted. I'm sorry to those who were disappointed by my original decision, but it was merely preventative, and in no way because I wanted to snub you. Forgive me? *bats eyelashes* I will be posting all of the chapters on my blog and *hopefully* be able to continue transferring my reviews over there in case the mods here hunt me down with torches and pitchforks.**

**Again, you don't need to "FOLLOW" the blog to get the alerts, if that was the issue for any of you who didn't want to go there, you just have to leave a review and your email address and hit a button. That's it. But I get it . . . I do.**

**Once RwaV has wrapped, I'll probably pull it from here and keep it on the blog-just to be safe, you know-but I'll continue to post WIPs here as long as I go unnoticed ;-)**

**. . . which means I'll be re-uploading Covet Thy Neighbor in the next few days.**

**Some readers aren't keen on the Twilighted format, so I want to assure you that the blog is SUPER easy to navigate (unlike some) and works BEAUTIFULLY on smartphones! (we've tested out SEVERAL types).**

**Anyway, sorry for being a crazy bitch. Here's the full, UNCENSORED chapter for your pervy pleasure ;-)**

**Okay, buckle up, readers. This is the chapter you've all been waiting for…**

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><p><strong>Chapter 18. Bullseye<strong>

Edward leaves before ten in the morning, not too long after we had a nice, late breakfast together after an amazing reunion. Actually, "amazing" doesn't even do last night justice . . . I really don't think there are any words in the English language that could accurately depict how truly unbelievable last night was for me—for us.

All morning, Edward seems almost nervous about the paintball game I've arranged for everyone. A part of me feels like I should go easy on him—maybe let him get a few shots in at some point—but there's also this deeper part of me that knows I'm not going to let that happen. It's almost as though the instinct to win has been subconsciously implanted into my brain.

While Edward's gone to pick Jasper up from the hotel, I do a bit of light house cleaning. Okay . . . so it's not the house, per say, that needs to be cleaned so much as his bedroom. Who knew that two people being reunited after only a couple of days could wreak such havoc? It's not so much our clothes that are the issue, but when I pick up my pants, I find that Edward's lamp had been knocked over and broken.

"Whoops," I whisper, not really feeling remorse for the fallen accessory. I grab my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and take a picture to send to Edward. After setting my phone down, I begin carefully picking up shards of glass and ceramic and tossing them in his wastebasket.

I abandon the lamp pieces when my phone buzzes on the night-side table, and I literally laugh out loud as I read Edward's response.

_I thought I heard something fall over last night. Can't say I feel bad, though. He died for a very good cause. ;)_

Falling back onto my heels, I reply, smiling wide the entire time.

_I couldn't agree more . . . but what about the matching one? Will you be able to replace it?_

Setting my phone on the floor next to me, I pick up a few more pieces before Edward responds.

_No need. We'll break that one later._

I laugh again—really loud and extremely unladylike; it's probably a good thing I'm completely alone in the house.

You're terrible. Go get Jasper; I'll see you in a bit.

I begin to tap out "I love you," but quickly delete it because, while I'm certain that's how I feel, I still have yet to say it. I almost did, though, yesterday when I called Edward to make sure he got the semi-nude photo of me . . . and again last night when he went down on me—something I honestly thought I'd never enjoy after my scarce experiences with Jake.

My cheeks warm as I remember last night, my eyes glancing over to the disheveled bed where Edward had me sprawled on my back while he kneeled between my legs. I recall how my hands clutched at the blanket, drawing them in toward my body as I felt pleasure vibrating all the way to my bones, and a warm tingle begins to bloom inside me, making me shiver. Thinking about how his tongue felt against my heated flesh leaves me somewhat breathless, and I have to shift on my knees to ease the pulsing between my legs that seems to increase with each passing second.

The more I think about the events of last night, the more I begin to wonder if Edward will expect a little reciprocity in that department. It's not that I'm necessarily _against_ the idea, but I've never done it—not for lack of Jake trying, mind you. He tried. And he tried. And he _tried_. He even threatened to stop doing me this "favour," and I had to try really hard not to laugh in his face and tell him I was more than okay with that. Much to my dismay, he didn't remain true to his word—which actually doesn't surprise me now. I still held firm in my decision not to return the "favour," and just wished for our time between the sheets to be over.

But Edward? Yeah, I could probably give it a shot for him. I mean, I did tell him that we shouldn't discount any sexual experience—no matter how daunting some of it might be to me right now.

Resolute with my plan, I finish cleaning up the lamp and our clothes, quickly make the bed, and discard the shards of glass and ceramic in the outside trash bin before running back up to my room and firing up my computer. I know I don't have a lot of time before Edward returns home with Jasper—and even less before Alice shows up. I can only imagine that the level of humiliation for being caught looking up how to give my boyfriend a proper blow-job would easily trump my parents walking in on Edward and me two weeks ago.

Without a doubt.

My computer doesn't turn on right away, so I try again. Nothing. The light for the power button doesn't even come on, so I check to make sure the AC adaptor cord is plugged in to both the computer and the wall. It is, however, when I wiggle it a little, the battery light flickers on and off several times, which probably means the wiring is ruined and I'll need to replace it.

"So much for that idea," I huff, slamming my laptop closed.

Then I remember that Edward has a computer. Would it be wrong for me to look up more than questionable material on my boyfriend's computer? What if he found out somehow? God! That would be humiliating! Though, if I was sure to clear the history, no one would be the wiser…

Realizing I don't have much time before everyone is expected to arrive, I rush to Edward's office and turn on his Mac. I open Safari, and my fingers hover over the keyboard; it almost feels wrong to even be contemplating this. Taking a deep breath, I enter words I've never spoken, much less typed, into the search browser and hit enter with closed eyes.

While I know the Internet is positively swarming with porn, it still surprises me a little to see just how many hits I come up with. The first few are . . . terrifying, and I close them almost immediately . . . Yeah, _almost_—I'll admit I lingered a little longer than I probably should have.

There are a few videos I find . . . informative, and they also serve to be quite titillating, too. I have to admit, the longer I watch, the more excited I find I'm becoming about maybe experiencing this with Edward—I just hope I don't mess it up. That's my biggest fear: what if I'm no good?

As I continue to . . . _research_, I feel the deep tingle that's been moving through my body intensify between my thighs, forcing me to cross my legs. I'm suddenly regretting this idea, because I've grown quite aroused, and Edward's nowhere around to lend a hand, so to speak.

I've become enthralled with one video in particular, resting my elbows on the desk and propping my head in my hands as I watch this couple. Suddenly, a knock at the door makes me jump, and I frantically close the window before running down to find Alice waiting on the other side.

The minute I open the door, the bright smile on her face is replaced with concern. It shouldn't surprise me that she's picked up on my current state of _frustration_. "You okay?" she asks. "You look a little flushed."

"Nope. Fine," I quickly reply, feeling my cheeks burn a little hotter. "I was just cleaning upstairs and rushed down when you knocked."

Alice gives me that all-knowing look, and I begin praying that she doesn't weasel what I've really been up to out of me. How the hell is one supposed to explain something like that?

Thankfully, it seems as though she's going to let it go without a fight. "Mmm hmm. If you say so."

Needing to distract her, I take her by the hand and lead her to the kitchen. "Come on, you can help me with lunch before everyone gets here."

She gives me a sad whimper, and I turn to look at her. "He's not here yet?"

Laughing, I roll my eyes and tug her along behind me. "No. They should be here soon, so I need to get lunch started. I was able to secure the entire paintball field at two this afternoon."

"Cool."

Alice and I set to work preparing a light lunch. While I put together the platter of sandwiches, Alice cuts the vegetables and arranges them on another plate. I'm just plating the last of the sandwich triangles when I hear the front door open and Edward's voice call out for me.

In less than a minute, he's entering the kitchen with Jasper behind him. "Ladies," Edward greets, shooting me a wink as he rounds the island and kisses my temple. "I'd like to introduce you both to Jasper Whitlock." He holds his hand out. "Jasper, this is Bella, and this is her friend, Alice."

Jasper nods his head curtly, the right side of his mouth turning up as he looks down at Alice. "It's a pleasure." He reaches out for her hand, and I have to bite my lip to keep from giggling when I see Alice blush as he kisses her knuckles. She's not a blusher—not ever—so this is _huge_.

"So, um . . ." Alice stumbles for words—another first. "You play baseball, right?"

Jasper's smile widens, and he nods. "I do."

"And do you like it?" she asks before cringing and shaking her head. "That was stupid. Of course you do."

"It wasn't stupid, darlin'." All the breath leaves my lungs upon hearing him call Alice "darlin'"; I can't even imagine what the receptors in her central nervous system are doing—probably all misfiring and colliding if I'm reading the look on her face correctly.

"Hey, Alice?" She slowly looks back over to me. "Can you finish giving me a hand here?"

Looking beyond grateful, she nods. "For sure."

As Alice returns her focus to lunch, I turn to Edward. "Why don't you show Jasper the patio? I'll send Rose and Em out once they get here, and then we'll all sit down to eat," I suggest.

"Actually, I have to run upstairs and check an email. My phone didn't open the file properly when Rose sent it to me." He looks up at his guest. "Jasper, you don't mind keeping the ladies company for a few minutes, do you?"

When I look at Jasper again, I see that he's still looking at Alice, who seems to be regaining her bearings. "Not at all," he replies coolly.

"I won't be long," Edward promises, kissing me sweetly before heading upstairs.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" I ask Jasper as I wipe my hands on the dishtowel. "I've got some fresh lemonade, coffee, tea, water…"

"Lemonade would be nice, thank you."

After I grab Jasper a glass of lemonade, I begin to tidy up the counters when anxiety slowly starts creeping its way along my spine. I shake it off, because I really have no reason to worry that I can think of, and I begin washing the few dishes I've dirtied.

Then it hits me like a wrecking ball. "Oh, shit," I mutter, dropping the knife back into the sink and running out of the kitchen while Alice calls after me. I launch myself up the stairs, taking them two at a time—even though this has proven in the past to be hazardous. When I barge into Edward's office, out of breath and probably looking completely insane, he slowly raises his wide eyes to mine.

The entire time I was running up here, I hoped that I was only imagining the worst . . . but as I read the expression on his face, it's confirmed that I didn't actually _close _the Internet window in my hurry to go let Alice in, but only _minimized_ it. It figures this would happen to me—and just when I'd started to think my humiliation streak had ended.

I'm breathing heavily, trying to figure out how to explain the massive amount of porn I Googled, and my face is burning hotter than ever. Before I can say anything to get myself out of this mess, though, Edward stands up and crosses the room to me. He wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me into the room, closing the door and pressing me against it. The look in his eyes eliminates any embarrassment I feel, replacing it with the familiar warmth of arousal and lust for him, and he presses his hands to the door on either side of me, effectively pinning me in place.

"I think you'd better explain your Internet usage, Miss Swan," he commands in a gravelly voice that makes my stomach flip and my heart flutter. When his nose brushes the skin of my cheek, his lips moving closer to my ear, I bite my bottom lip and fight back a whimper.

At an agonizingly slow pace, his lips ghost over the skin below my ear, and goosebumps prickle up all over my body, making me sigh. "I don't…" I begin, my brain losing temporary connection with my mouth when his teeth graze the tender skin of my neck. "Can't…"

Suddenly, one of his hands has moved from beside me and is quickly unbuttoning my jeans. It takes him no time at all, and I gasp when he slips the hand inside and begins sliding his fingers back and forth between my legs, teasing me.

"Can't?" he inquires before nipping at my neck again and inducing a shudder through my frame. "Why not?"

"It's…" I pant as he presses his fingertip against my clit, making me thrust my hips into his touch. My body temperature begins to raise, my heart beats so loud and fast it's almost hard to hear anything else, and my fingers begin to curl against the wood of the door behind me as he continues his sensual massage over my sensitive flesh. "It's embarrassing."

He groans, the vibration of the deep, throaty sound sending a jolt straight through me. I throw my arms around his neck and thrust my fingers into his hair. "There's nothing _embarrassing_ about me fucking your mouth. And based on how wet you are, I'd say you quite liked it."

I never in a million years thought that hearing such words would make my body react so positively. I always figured that if I'd heard anything so crass that I'd either laugh maniacally or be completely repulsed . . . But there's something about Edward talking dirty in the heat of the moment that turns me on even more. Maybe it's because he's usually so chivalrous and proper…

Whatever the reason, it's fucking awesome, and my entire body hums in anticipation of the next filthy thing to come out of his mouth.

"Did you have something special planned for later?" he asks, his hand moving back as he sinks his fingers into me, making me bite back another loud moan.

"I wanted . . . wanted . . . " I'm having trouble speaking as his fingers move in and out of me slowly, curling and pressing, pushing and sliding. "Repay . . . last night . . ." My ability to speak is apparently on the fritz, but I think he understands—at least, I hope to hell he does.

"Sweetheart," he whispers, sounding a little stunned. He removes his hand from between my legs—much to my chagrin—and pulls his face away from my neck, smiling. "You don't have to repay me. I didn't do it so you'd feel obligated to reciprocate. I got just as much pleasure from last night as you did."

My cheeks warm, and I look up at him through my lashes. "Somehow I doubt that to be entirely accurate," I tease, thankful that I'm once again able to form a coherent sentence—even if that means Edward's not feeling me up. "And I don't know . . . I started thinking about our talk last night, and how I said we shouldn't discount anything." I shrug. "I wanted to . . . try. The problem is, I've never . . . you know?" He's silent, so I continue. "So I thought I'd research a little. I don't want to . . . suck."

"Well," Edward says with a cocky smirk, making me regret the last bit of my confession. "Technically—"

While I'll always be grateful for the way he's able to lighten an embarrassing moment, I can't help but stare at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed. "You know what I meant!" I cry, swatting his chest playfully.

"I do," he assures me with a chuckle. "But I want you to know that I don't expect oral sex in return for every time I go down on you—you'd get pretty exhausted if that were the case." While I know he's kind of-sort of kidding, hearing that he intends to spend a lot of time with his face between my legs makes me a little weak-kneed—and even more turned on.

I'm about to beg him to touch me again, to help me dull the steadily building pulse between my legs, but he kisses the tip of my nose and pushes away from the door. "Come on, we shouldn't leave our guests alone too long."

"But—" I begin to protest.

Edward pulls me to him, turning me and pressing my back flush to his chest. His left hand wraps around my body, his hand gripping my right breast firmly while his right hand cruelly trails the open waistline of my jeans. "Don't worry, we'll pick up _right_ where we left off," he gruffly whispers into my ear, moving the hand from my stomach around to squeeze my ass before swatting it lightly.

When he releases me from his hold, I sway slightly on Jell-O legs. This makes Edward chuckle as he steadies me and opens the door.

As we walk through the hall, I button my pants and grumble. "You're a tease, Edward Cullen."

"Don't pretend like you don't love it," he prods playfully, reaching out for me and tickling my sides.

Love. If only he knew just how much I loved absolutely everything about him—even the teasing.

"Feeling pretty sure about that?" I inquire cockily. "Well, I hope you remember this moment when it's down to just you and me in the field today." This seems to stop him, and I smile. "Oooooh, look who's suddenly realized that maybe he shouldn't start something he can't finish."

Instead of coming back at me with some kind of smart-ass comment, he lunges and tosses me over his shoulder. The only other time he's done this, we both ended up wet—and not in that sexy, you-make-me-feel-so-good way.

"What are you doing?" I demand through my laughter.

"Taking you downstairs where we can be properly chaperoned before I show you just how badly I want to finish what I started in my office." He's got that sexy growl lacing his tone, making me squirm and wriggle in his arms. This causes his hand to move up my thigh until his fingertips are pressing against the centre seam of my jeans—right where I crave him. Flesh on flesh.

There's no way we can wait any longer to make love. I need him—all of him, but, unfortunately, he's right; we have company, and it would be rude of us to leave them alone any longer.

Edward sets me back on my feet when we return to the kitchen, and we find Alice and Jasper sitting at the kitchen table, deep in conversation. I'm happy to see she's gotten over her nerves, but I secretly loathe her because it took me—what?—several _weeks_ to get over mine. It's just not fair.

"Oh, hey!" Alice exclaims, turning to face us. "I finished up the dishes, and we were just waiting for the two of you to get back."

"Yeah," I say, glancing sideways at Edward. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to leave so abruptly. I just . . . forgot something."

Alice smirks, her eyebrow arching in that special way that tells me she knows something. Before she can question me, the door opens and Emmett calls out, his voice echoing throughout the entire house.

When he and Rose join us in the kitchen, I offer to begin taking the food out to the patio while Jasper and Alice are introduced to our two newest arrivals. I'm just setting the plate of sandwiches down when Edward appears beside me, placing the vegetables down and kissing my cheek.

"Thanks," I whisper.

Edward leans against the table, pulls me over until I stand between his thick thighs, and places his hands above the swell of my ass. "Look," he begins, "I didn't mean to get you worked up in the office. I just . . . Jesus, when I opened the internet browser and saw what you were looking at . . . well, suffice it to say you're not the only one waiting to get the other alone."

"Oh yeah?" I ask softly, draping my arms over his shoulders and around his neck. "And what exactly do you plan to do once you've got me all alone in this big house?"

Edward shrugs, leaning forward and kissing the tip of my nose. It's a small, innocent gesture, but it always serves to take my breath away while making me feel special and adored. "You don't want me to go and ruin the surprise, now do you?"

"I suppose not," I agree breathlessly, leaning in and ghosting my lips over his. "But you better make good on that promise, Cullen."

His eyelids drop slightly, and he groans. It pleases me to know I have a very similar effect on him to the one he has on me. "I assure you, I will."

Behind me, the patio door slides open. "Hey, you two!" Emmett booms. "You gonna spend all day making googly eyes and kissy faces at each other?"

"Thought about it," I joke, shooting a friendly wink Emmett's way.

Edward and I separate to take our seats as everyone else does the same. We have a pleasant lunch with delightful conversation, and every once in a while, Edward's hand finds its place on my upper thigh. This does little to help the still-lingering desire I feel for him, but the masochist in me refuses to break our connection for even a second of reprieve.

"So, Jasper, how was your flight in?" Emmett asks, reaching for a third sandwich.

"Pretty good, thank you." Jasper turns to Edward. "And the hotel is incredible. Thank you both again for taking care of everything. Y'all have officially gone above and beyond."

"We're just trying to show you everything Phoenix has to offer," Edward tells him.

The guys start to talk business, so I take the opportunity to ask Rosalie how she's been.

"I've been pretty good, actually. How's school?"

"Busy," I reply. "But good."

Rose has just taken a sip of her lemonade when her eyes widen. "Oh!" she exclaims, setting her glass back down. "I meant to tell you that the last part I need for your truck should be here by Wednesday."

This is exciting news to me; as much as I've enjoyed Edward driving me to and from school and work, I've still felt like a bit of an imposition. "Really? That's great!"

"Yeah, I should have it drivable by the weekend."

"There's really no rush, Rose," Edward interjects, giving my thigh a little squeeze. "If you've got other things to do, we'll make it work a little longer."

"Edward," I say, "that's sweet, but at some point, you won't be able to make our schedules work."

"Well, we can worry about that when the time comes."

Our eyes lock, and I agree without another word, because his deep desire to do whatever he can to take care of me is beyond admirable. It's such a new experience to me; how can I not bask in it for as long as humanly possible?

When we finish lunch, everybody pitches in with the cleanup, and when everything has found its place and the dishes are done, we exit the kitchen to get ready for our afternoon of fun. Everybody waits in the foyer while I run upstairs and grab my camouflage vest; I won't be playing in it, but I like to think it'll help pump me up and get me in the right mindset.

As I descend the stairs, I catch Edward's extremely wide eyes as he takes in the sight. "Taking this a bit seriously, aren't you, sweetheart?"

Laughing, I step toward him and push up onto my toes to kiss him lightly. "You scared?" I tease.

I can tell his confidence is shaken, but he's trying to mask it. "I didn't say that. I just—"

Behind Edward, Emmett starts laughing. "She is going to _destroy_ you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Em," Edward grumbles, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"Aw, cupcake," Em coos, wrapping his arm around Edward's shoulder as I take a step back. He brings his large hand up and pats Edward's cheek tenderly, and I stifle a giggle. "I'll protect that fine ass of yours."

Shrugging out from beneath the weight of Emmett's gigantic arm, Edward reaches out and takes my hand. "Come on, then. Let's head out before we're late."

Edward opens the passenger-side door to the Vanquish and flips the front seat forward for Alice and Jasper to slip into the back when Alice speaks up. "You know, there's not a lot of room back there . . ."

"Al, you're five feet tall," I tell her.

"True facts," she quickly agrees without question. "Jasper, however, is, what, just over six?" He nods. "Why don't I take my car, too? That way Jasper won't feel so squashed in the backseat."

I look to Edward, who seems somewhat uncertain; it's probably a liability issue that's swaying him. While I've known Alice for the last year and a half and trust her completely, Edward hasn't.

My eyes follow Edward's to Emmett's, who shrugs casually, before looking back to Alice and Jasper. "As long as Jasper's all right with it, I don't see it being a problem."

Jasper seems all too willing to ride in Alice's Corvette, and I'm willing to bet it's not even about the car; they seem to have really hit it off. It was never really my intention to play matchmaker, but it makes me feel kind of warm and fuzzy that maybe I've introduced Jasper to his first real friend aside from Edward and Emmett.

Once everyone has climbed into their vehicles, we head off to our appointment. Edward and I lead the way as I know the way there, and the others stay close behind us. Edward can sense my excitement and reaches over and places his hand on my thigh. This of course only invites back a different kind of excitement, even if he doesn't really mean for it to, and I find myself thinking back to just under a couple hours ago in his office. Even just remembering the intensity of his stare sends shockwaves through my veins.

The sexual tension between us continues to mount with each day that we wait, and while I know his intentions are good, I feel like I'm going to burst at the seams if we wait any longer. Glancing over at him as he drives, I bite the inside of my cheek and wonder if maybe I should suggest we stop at the pharmacy on the way home . . .

Edward chuckles lightly. "You're being awfully quiet," he points out, squeezing my thigh gently. "Plotting out your war strategies?"

"Something like that," I say with a little shrug.

Turning his head, he arches a brow and gives me that crooked smirk that I love. "You gonna take it easy on me?"

"Aw," I coo, reaching out and placing my hand on his cheek. "Not a chance, baby."

Edward laughs. "Didn't think so. Thought it was worth asking, though." Even though I can sense he really is a little bit nervous, I know he's excited about our afternoon.

We find parking spots in the lot, Emmett and Alice parking on either side of us, and we make our way for the main building. My excitement begins to escalate with every step, and I'm practically pulling Edward behind me. The minute we walk through the doors, I can hear a game in progress, and a surge of adrenaline shoots through me.

"Hi," I greet the man at the counter. "I have a reservation for six at two."

He checks his computer and nods. "Bella Swan?"

"That's me."

"All right, well the last group is just wrapping up, so we'll just go over everything you'll need to know while we wait. Do any of you have your own equipment?" he asks, looking at each of us. "No? Well then, full equipment rental is nine ninety-five per person, and that gets you everything you'll need for the afternoon, including one hundred rounds of ammo. Should you find you need more ammunition, we have price packages for them."

After he gives us the low down, I reach into my vest for my wallet when Edward stops me. "I don't think so, beautiful."

"No, it's okay," I assure him. "I want to."

"Maybe next time?" he offers gently. "I was going to expense it to the agency."

Smiling, I push my wallet back into my pocket. "Oh, right. Of course."

Edward gets everything squared away, and we all collect our equipment. Once we're suited up, I begin to explain how to use the guns. It's not a surprise for me to learn that all three guys have done this before while Alice and Rosalie haven't. So, as we make our way to the field, I walk ahead with the girls and tell them how everything works.

"So, you can shoot one paintball at a time," I begin to explain, showing them how the trigger mechanism works on my unloaded gun. "Or, you can use the double trigger for rapid-fire shooting. You go through more rounds, but I find it a little more fun."

"Of course you do," Edward quips.

I turn my head to look back at him, narrow my eyes, and smirk. "You want to be my guinea pig?"

"Nope," he says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. Please, continue."

"I have a question," Rose pipes up. "How bad, exactly, is this going to hurt?"

"Well, if you get hit—and you will—you'll be sporting a pretty sizable bruise tomorrow." Thinking back to the last time I went, I try to figure out how to explain the feeling. "The initial impact stings like crazy, but you'll be so hopped up on adrenaline that you'll barely even notice.

"Now," I continue, stopping and turning around to face everyone as I load my paintballs into the chamber atop the gun, "do we want to play as individuals? Or in teams?"

"Teams!" Rose and Alice cry out simultaneously, and I snicker.

It's not shocking that they would want to team up, considering they've never played before, and truthfully, it would be pretty cruel to set them loose when the rest of us have done this in the past. I'm sure the guys would go easy on them, but I can't just send them off on their own their first time out.

We continue talking about how we should split up, deciding to switch up the teams every round to keep it fair, when I hear a voice behind me that's done nothing but grate on my nerves for weeks. My finger twitches on the trigger as the deep voice grows closer, and when I look up at Edward, I can see he's looking past me.

"Hey," Jake calls out over the cackling of his entourage. "Lookin' good, Bells. What do you say you and I—"

With an irritated sigh, I turn around, hold out my arm, and quickly fire four rounds . . . directly at his groin. His face twists in what can only be agony, and he groans, his hands flying to cover his paint-splattered crotch while he falls to his knees.

"And _that_ is why men should wear athletic cups, and why we don't purposely aim for that part of the body," I announce, resting the barrel of my gun on my shoulder and turning to my wide-eyed group with a self-satisfied smile. "Any questions?"

It's like I'm watching a well-rehearsed scene in a comedy when they all blink a couple times and shake their heads in unison. "All right then. Let's split into two teams." Turning around, I cock my head to indicate we should head in.

As we pass Jake—who's still on the ground clutching his bruising junk—I bend down and clamp a hand down on his shoulder. "Give Leah my condolences. You might be out of commission for a while."

Once we arrive at the field, we discuss the first set of teams. Rosalie and Alice seem to be more than willing to play guys versus girls when I suggest it.

"She barely even had to _look_ before she shot that guy," Rose points out. "I'd hate to play against her."

The guys all seem confident that they can win—even Jasper gets in on the testosterone-fuelled comments they fling our way as they affix their masks to their faces and walk backward away from me and the girls.

"Good luck, sweetheart," Edward says confidently, giving me one more wink and a brief glimpse of that crooked smirk before lowering his mask completely and joining his teammates.

Maybe it's that I've allied myself with two paintball virgins that's boosted his confidence enough to think I _need_ luck, or maybe he's just trying to rattle me; whatever it is, this only awakens my instinct to play as hard as I can . . . and win. Thinking back to all the times my dad brought me here, I remember everything he ever taught me strategically. Sometimes we'd play against each other, others it would be him and me against a few of his deputies. He and I were pretty evenly matched, but it was rare that we'd lose against his men.

I may not have had much time to hit the range with him in the last two years, but I'm still fairly confident in my abilities.

I lower my mask, Alice and Rosalie following suit, and we march onto the field. The minute the game begins, the three of us duck behind one of the bigger obstacles, several paintballs firing in our direction and barely missing us. Behind me, I hear gunfire and realize that Alice is firing on the guys as they split up and take cover; she's a natural, proving I chose my teammates well.

Splitting up is a smart move, I'll give them that, but I'm not going to abandon Rose and Alice until I've had a chance to go over some kind of plan. We move along, crouched low behind the obstacle, and when I hear the turf being disrupted several yards away, I hold up a fist to stop them so I can listen. The footsteps stop for a minute but then pick up again before fading, so I signal for us to move again, pumping my arm up and down to indicate we speed up—well, the hand signal is clear to me, anyway.

"What does that mean?" Alice asks.

"I don't know," is Rosalie's reply. "Bella, what does that mean?"

I can't help but feel slightly exasperated—mainly because they're talking at a level that's going to get us noticed—so I turn around and lift my mask. "It means talk really loud so that they find us." I immediately regret it because, really, they didn't know what I was trying to say. "Sorry. Just, come on. We need to be quick."

My words come a little too late, though, as Emmett launches himself over the barricade we're hiding behind like some kind of super ninja and starts shooting. We all return fire, but are too late to save Alice—thankfully we each hit him with one or two rounds ourselves.

"Son of a BITCH!" she cries out, clutching her thigh where Emmett hit her with three paintballs. "Okay, I knew it was going to hurt, but I didn't think it was going to feel _that _bad!"

"Damn," Emmett exclaims, sounding surprisingly enthused. "I just got nailed by three chicks!"

Rose lifts her mask and tries to fight a smile, failing when she starts to laugh. "Oh, grow up."

Emmett's smile widens. "What? That's totally how I'm going to tell this story."

We all laugh before I remember we're still in the middle of a game. "Okay, you two, get out of here. This'll be over soon."

Emmett slings his rifle over his shoulder and slaps his hands together. "Oh, man . . . I can't wait to see this."

The minute Em and Alice are off the field, I turn to Rose. "You okay if we split up? If we stay together, we're like sitting ducks."

The look in her eyes is slightly unsure, but there's also excitement in them—likely from the adrenaline of taking Emmett out of the game. "You bet."

"Okay," I tell her with a nod. "I don't know how good Edward is, but I know Jasper was going to join the army—so he's probably got target practice of some sort under his belt. Keep your eyes peeled and your hearing tuned. Stay low and stay hidden."

We part ways, and as I move quickly, looking all over for any sign of Edward or Jasper, I hear Rosalie cry out; she's been hit, and now I'm on my own. I turn in the direction I heard her, and I see Jasper retreating about thirty yards away. He's not quick enough to duck behind the huge column, and I fire three shots, hitting his lower leg once and his upper body twice.

It's down to just Edward and me now.

I take a minute to listen to my surroundings. Hearing nothing, I move to peek around the corner. A paintball whizzes by, missing my shoulder by a fraction of an inch, and I throw myself back against the wall. Where the hell is he hiding? Adrenaline pumps through my veins, my heart beating faster and faster, and my breathing increasing.

I take a couple of deep breaths in an effort to calm down so I can hear more than just the blood pumping through my body, and also so I can move to a new location without my heavy breathing giving me away.

I take another glance around the corner, not finding any sign of him anywhere, and I bolt out into the open, throwing myself behind another obstacle and scanning the area. I see movement several yards away, and I open fire, splattering five orange paintballs against the far wall.

"He's fast," I mutter under my breath.

As soon as he's found cover, I see a flash of copper hair above his mask, and then hear the rapid firing of several paintballs in my direction. I feel the sting of the first one as it grazes my arm, but it doesn't explode until it connects with the obstacle behind me. It's a close call; one that fuels my desire to win.

The game goes on for a while longer, each of us escaping the other's attack by a fraction of an inch time and time again, and I'm beginning to wonder if Edward hasn't been faking his nervousness over the last couple of days. I wouldn't put it past him.

Out of breath from my latest sprint, I hide behind a pillar and duck down before moving along out of sight. He's over by the entrance to the arena, and I make my way toward him silently in hopes of a sneak attack.

And that's when I feel it: something inside me stirs and I know he's close . . . I only wonder if he can sense me the way I can sense him. It can only be assumed that he can, since I feel we've developed a pretty strong bond between us already, so I keep moving, listening carefully for his following movements. I hear the shuffle of his feet on the other side of the obstacle, and I spring up like a jack-in-the-box, firing two rounds into his chest before he can react.

I'm feeling pretty good about winning the first round, and I can hear everyone making their way over, congratulating me on my victory—but there's something in Edward's eyes as he raises his mask that tells me this isn't over. He never really struck me as the type to be a sore loser—competitive, yes; sore loser, definitely not.

I decide that I'm probably reading too much into it and try to put it behind me. "You were good," I tell him, taking my own mask off. "Really made me work for it."

Edward smirks, and my fear of him being upset dissipates completely. "Won't be the first time today," he assures me. "Let's go again."

"Wanna be on my team?" I ask, stepping forward, gripping the waist of his pants and pulling him to me. Locking eyes with him, I pop up onto my toes and let my nose brush his, our mouths so close, yet so far from each other. "I'll protect you." My voice is barely a whisper, and I feel Edward's lips curl up when mine finally graze them.

"It's a tempting offer, sweetheart, but I'd like a rematch." His hands rest on my hips, his fingers curling and holding me firmly in place, and my heart flutters. He's doing this on purpose—dazzling me the way he does in order to throw me off my game.

"Hmm," I hum, licking my lips and pulling back. "It's your funeral, Cullen."

After being congratulated, we reset the teams. This time, Rose and Emmett are with me, and Jasper and Alice have sided with Edward. Four minutes in, Jasper has taken out Rose, and Emmett gets Alice. It's two on two, but Emmett is proving to be a good ally.

"Edward is mine," I tell him with a smirk as we duck behind a barricade to avoid being hit.

"Careful there, Bella, Edward's mighty competitive. He's been known to not take too kindly to losing sometimes," he warns me.

I smile and arch an eyebrow. "Well, I'm not just going to roll over and play dead. I think I'll take my chances."

We split up shortly after our conversation, and I'm just making my way across the field when I feel the sharp sting in my upper arm first and then my ass where Edward's red paint has marked me. "Ow! Damn it!" I shout, skidding to a stop and turning to see my assailant.

He's just standing there, holding his gun and looking pretty damn smug.

Of course, making himself known isn't his best move, because Emmett avenges me, shooting Edward. We leave the field, and Edward seems pleased at having shown me up . . . and also a little disgruntled at having his victory so short-lived.

"Good game," I say, sidling up to him as we walk to where Alice and Rose are watching the game. "We even now?"

Smirking, he looks down at me, mischief shining bright in his eyes. "Not even close."

It's interesting to watch Emmett and Jasper play against each other, and it's obvious by the way Jasper moves that he has some army training; his moves are stealthy and very tactical, while Emmett's are clearly from watching one too many TV shows and movies—not that it isn't hilarious.

Jasper is the winner of the second round, and after he and Emmett make their way back over to us, we split up into different teams. Edward and I remain on opposite teams, his own competitive spirit fuelling mine further.

We play three more games over the next couple hours, and I am the last person standing for two of them, having taken Edward out to reign champion. While I should feel pretty good about it, I can't help but feel waves of . . . _something_ rolling off of him as we make our way to the front counter to drop off all of our equipment.

He seems incredibly tense, and I can't help but wonder if maybe Emmett was right; maybe I should have just let him think he was better than me—even if it goes against everything I know.

We say goodbye to everyone, and even then, Edward barely cracks a smile, asking Emmett if he would mind taking Jasper back to his hotel. Tentatively, Edward presses his hand into my lower back to lead me to the car, and as we go, I notice Alice and Jasper exchange phone numbers.

Even though he's acting a bit odd, Edward still opens my door for me and waits for me to get in before closing it and running around to the driver's side. I'm unsure how to broach the subject of his demeanor. I mean, clearly calling him a spoilsport will result in a fight—and this isn't something I want our first fight to be about.

He remains silent, his hands on the wheel at ten and two—except when he has to shift. The fact that he doesn't reach out and place a hand on my thigh is a little disheartening, but I'm not going to plead for his affection if he's upset. I know we need to talk about this, but I don't want to do it in the car, because if he is upset, and we do indeed fight about this, it's probably not safe. No, I'll wait until we're home.

The air in the car seems thick and suffocating with our unspoken issues, and I silently beg for us to arrive home soon so we can begin to wade through it. I glance over at him several times, taking in the paint speckled on his face and neck and the streaks of blue and orange in his bronze-coloured hair, and notice that his eyes remain glued to the road. His hands clench the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are white, and his breathing is deep, making his chest heave.

We arrive home, and I throw my door open, heading to the house before Edward even shuts the car off; I just can't take one more minute in the car with him not talking to me. Once I'm in the house, I remove my shoes and head for the stairs; I need a minute to myself before I talk to Edward, so I'll have a shower and try to figure out how to bring it up.

I think what upsets me most is that this afternoon was supposed to be fun, and while I had a good time initially, now I'm pissed off that Edward's acting like a big baby.

"Bella," Edward says from behind me, closing and locking the door. I turn from the middle step and look down at him. He looks confused. "Where are you going?"

"To have a shower," I reply snarkily. "I'm covered in paint—it's all in my hair, and you don't seem too keen on talking to me right now, anyway. When you're ready to talk, you know where to find me." With that, I turn and head up to my room.

After undressing in my bathroom, I stand before my mirror in my bra and panties and inspect my soon-to-be war wounds. In total, I took seven shots today: the ones to my upper arm and ass that I received first, I got two on the back of my left thigh, two on my stomach, and one just above my left breast. The welts are dark red, and the dark bruises have already begun to form in the centre; by morning, they should be huge and painful—but totally worth it.

Well, up until Edward started acting like a crab.

My hair is streaked with red, yellow, and blue paint, there are splatters on the ivory skin of my face and neck where my mask didn't cover, and my hands are painted with a rainbow of colours from every hit and the backsplash of paintballs that hit the wall next to me.

With a sigh, I reach behind me and begin to unclasp my bra when my bathroom door opens suddenly. It startles me at first, but when my eyes lock on Edward's for the briefest of seconds, I don't see anger or hurt in them; I see desire.

He's across the room in a flash, pulling me into his arms and kissing me hard. I moan when his tongue runs along my bottom lip, and my toes curl as he lifts me until our faces are level.

I pull back slightly, and my eyes dance between his, confused. "What are you doing?"

He smirks. "Kissing you," is his quick reply.

"But . . . why?"

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Do I need a reason?"

It's my turn to be confused, but the minute he starts kissing my neck, I temporarily forget about it. His lips kiss, and warmth spreads through my entire body. His teeth nip, and goosebumps arise. His hand moves down and grips my ass, lifting me onto the bathroom counter, and he pushes his way between my legs, making me whimper. Even though he's still got his jeans on, I can feel his erection pressing against me, and I pull him closer by digging my heels into his ass.

His lips, teeth—and now tongue—continue to explore my neck while my mind races with how quickly his mood has turned around. I know I shouldn't question it, but I just have to know . . .

"Wh—" I pant and moan, unable to form a conscious thought when his tongue licks the hollow of my throat. "What's gotten into you?"

I can feel his lips curl up into a sly smirk against my skin. "I think a better question would be: what's about to get into you?"

As usual, his dirty talk makes me moan and thrust my hips against him, seeking out some kind of friction to appease the pulse of arousal between my legs. It's hard to focus as his lips resume their mission. "We . . . we can't. I th-thought . . . Oh _god_, don't stop." Rational thought is fleeting . . . and then it returns again. "Wait . . ."

"For what?" he rasps against my neck, slowly working his way down over my collarbone.

With all the willpower I can muster, I press my hand flat against his chest and push him back a little. "Don't you think we should . . . I don't know . . . talk?"

He no longer looks at me with confusion, but concern. "About what?"

I arch an eyebrow, unsure if he's serious. "Your behaviour after paintballing," I tell him.

This only makes him smile, and his hands move up the outside of my thighs, his fingers hooking into the sides of my panties. "Mmm hmm."

"It was kind of upsetting." My confession forces him back a step, and he stares at me in shock. "I just . . . I thought we were having fun." I drop my eyes to my lap and exhale loudly. "And then you didn't talk to me until we got home."

Soft fingers touch my jaw as Edward cradles my face in his large hands. "You think I was upset about losing to you?" I shrug despondently. "Baby," he croons, his soft voice rolling over me like warm water. He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. "Watching you today was . . . well, it was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

My eyes snap open, and my jaw falls slack in his hands. Did I really just hear him right?

He moves forward again until he's snug between my thighs once more, and his hands fall to my thighs. "You were so confident out there today—proving it time and time again with every shot you made—and you were so focused and in control." Pausing, he chuckles lightly. "It's no wonder I lost so many damn times."

"Well," I say, feeling relieved and a little stupid for misreading him—again, "that, or you just suck."

Edward's chuckle turns into a deep laugh. "It took every shred of self-control I had to keep my hands off of you, because I knew that even the slightest touch would result in me taking you wherever we were." Slowly, his hands travel up my thighs to my ass, pulling me to the edge of the counter. I wince when one of his fingers presses on one of my bruises, and he pulls his hand back, looking remorseful.

"Comes with the territory," I assure him as he leans over to inspect it. He's got to move my panties slightly in order to see the area entirely, and I sigh when he ghosts his finger over the tender flesh.

He abandons the area when he notices the ones on my stomach and chest. "Jesus," he mutters, tracing around them with his thumb. "Where else?"

"The, uh, back of my thigh." I bite my lip and reach out to tug his shirt up his body. "Really, I'm fine. I'd be willing to bet I left my own marks on you." He raises his arms as I remove his shirt, and I take in the two deep purpley-red marks on his left pectoral. I let my fingers glide over them, the pads of them barely making contact with his skin, but I can see his body react when the light hairs on his chest prickle into goosebumps.

I lean forward and press a gentle kiss against the reddened flesh, and Edward groans, his hips pushing against me and making me whimper. My hands move up his chest, feeling his hard muscles, and then up around his neck until I'm fisting his hair.

"I don't know how much longer I can wait," I admit softly, looking up into his stormy eyes.

He smiles, moving his hand between us and into my panties. My eyes begin to roll back into my head as his fingers glide back and forth through my arousal. "Edward," I breathe, letting my head fall back.

The hand that's not busy pushing me closer to climax moves up my back and undoes my bra, letting it fall slack around me. I release my hold around his neck and toss the bra to the floor as Edward takes one of my erect nipples into his mouth. His warm tongue flattens against my breast before he grazes his teeth over the pebbled flesh, driving me absolutely crazy.

"More," I pant, and Edward eases his fingers into me . . . But it's not enough. "I need you."

Before he can protest—even though deep down, I know he should because we don't have any condoms—I undo his jeans and let them pool around his ankles before working his underwear over his erection to join them. He removes his hand from between us and looks at me, his eyes not showing any traces of objection before he hooks his fingers back into the sides of my underwear and tugs them down my legs.

_This is happening_. My palms begin to sweat, and my heart is beating rapidly as I look over his paint-splattered face. I can feel the tip of him resting against my heated flesh. Slowly, I push my hips forward, forcing his length to slide through my arousal, and we both release a satisfied moan.

And it's _still _not enough.

"Edward," I whisper again.

His hips continue to move, his erection gliding back and forth between my lower lips, and it has me teetering on the edge of pure bliss, while still craving more. Whimpering, I thrust my hips against him in hopes he'll take the hint and take me.

He doesn't, though. Instead, he pulls away and bends down. Confused and breathless, I watch as he pulls his ankles from his pants, removes his socks, and then picks up the denim and heads toward the shower to turn it on. On his way back over to me, he drops his pants back to the floor, but my eyes remain locked on the square foil packet he's holding between his fore and middle fingers.

"Oh thank god!" I exclaim, placing my hand on the back of his neck and roughly pulling him toward me. Our lips unite in a kiss so firm it almost comes across as needy. I can tell he's being careful to keep his dick away from me, and the minute I hear that foil packet tear between us, I silently rejoice.

We stop kissing so he can put the condom on, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I enjoy watching him roll it over his length. Once it's in place, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter until I can feel him _right there_. Right. Fucking. _There_.

Our eyes lock, and all I can see is how much he cares for me. "I love you." The words leave my mouth without getting clearance from my brain—not that I would have stopped them if I'd been given the chance.

Edward smiles wide, his eyes bright and full of happiness. "I love you, too," he tells me. "So fucking much."

Whimpering, I pull his face back to mine and kiss him. With our bodies pressed flush together, Edward slowly pushes his hips forward, entering me. The sensation of him stretching me is unparallel to anything I've ever experienced. It's like we were made for each other . . . I realize how cliché that sounds, but it's so true—and we have only just begun.

Edward moans into my mouth the minute his hips are flat against my thighs, his entire length sheathed within me. It's amazing; my whole body feels like it's on fire—like millions of electric shocks are crackling and sparking beneath the surface of my skin.

I tighten my legs around Edward's waist, holding him close as I shift my hips against him, and he slowly pulls out and then sinks back in . . . repeating this satisfying, yet completely torturous motion over and over and over again.

"Oh!" I cry out, my voice echoing off the walls of the small space. "That's good . . . so good! Don't stop . . ."

But he does. Still inside of me, he grabs my ass and lifts me off the counter, carrying me toward the shower and opening the glass door before stepping inside and pressing my back to the cool tile wall. I'm not too lost to the sensation of Edward inside me to know this isn't in some way awkward, so I move to drop my feet.

Edward is quick to correct this action, sliding his hands down my water-slickened thighs and holding them in place. To affirm his position, he plunges into me again, making me cry out as my orgasm swells just out of reach.

I'm close to my release, and Edward knows it. His eyes lock on mine, and he resumes his careful pace. As time goes on, the tempo of his hips increases, gaining not only speed, but also depth, and hitting me at angles I never even dreamed of before.

And, for some reason, it's _still_ not enough.

My hips meet his, making our combined thrusts a little deeper, a little more intense, and _a lot_ more satisfying. Sure, it's awkward since I have very little leverage other than the wall, but eventually, we find our rhythm and move together.

As the warm water sprays over us, dripping down and between our joined bodies, everything comes together: Edward and me declaring our feelings for each other, the weeks of sexual frustration finally releasing itself with the fresh adrenaline of the afternoon's activities coursing through our veins . . .

"Oh god, Bella," Edward growls, pressing his forehead to my damp neck, his movements becoming a little less even, and his breathing begins to match. "You feel so fucking good." His voice is raspy, and his words punctuated with every push.

"Yes." I sigh, my hands clawing at his back and finding no traction over his slick skin. Every muscle in my body begins to tighten, and my heart pounds heavily against my ribs until it and our laboured breaths are all I hear. "S'good," I murmur.

The minute Edward's hands ensnare my hips and pull me roughly against him, my orgasm crashes through me, shattering the flimsy barrier that struggled to keep it contained. He cries out against my neck, and his fingers curl into my skin, his hips move in short, determined movements, and I can feel him pulse and release inside me.

My legs tremble around him as I let the final waves of euphoria wash over me, and Edward's head remains against my skin as our breathing steadies once more. The entire time we stay like this, I start to feel emotional—I'm not going to cry, or anything, but . . . it's the first time I've ever gotten anything out of sex. And I'm not just talking about the orgasm; the emotional connection I feel between Edward and me makes things even more intense . . . even more _loving_.

Slowly, he lifts his face, his eyes hooded and relaxed. "You're amazing," he says softly, kissing me once.

"Thank you," I tell him, instantly feeling stupid, because I'm not actually thanking him for his recent statement. "I mean . . . for being you. I didn't know that sex could be that . . ." I pause, unable to think of a word that accurately describes how I feel about what just happened between us. ". . . fucking epic." That'll have to do.

Slowly, I loosen my legs from around him, and Edward withdraws from between them. My feet hit the ground, and I'm a little shaky. I find my bearings soon enough and reach up to run my hand along Edward's jaw, smearing the small paint spots across his skin. "What do you say we clean up and then curl up on the couch with something to eat?"

Edward waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I giggle. "Maybe we should worry about feeding our bodies to keep our energy up," I counter. "We can think about _that_ after."

"Oh," Edward quips, urging me under the showerhead first, "I assure you I'll be thinking about it the _entire_ time."

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><p><strong>AN2: And, there it is. They FINALLY took that step. What did you think? Please review!**

**It's summertime now, which means I'm super busy. I hope to get back to regular updates, but they might not be weekly until my schedule slows down again. I'm gonna try, though!**

**Until next chapter!**

**xoxo**


	19. One New Experience After Another

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

**HUGE thanks to my betas, who are quick to get my chapters back to me even though they have lives like the rest of us. They're amazing, and I don't know how I've done this without them in the past. *hugs and kisses to TDS88 and Twimarti***

****TDS personal disclaimer: Live long and prosper . . . and may the Force also be with you.**

****Twimarti personal disclaimer: *_is speechless_***

**So, last time, they took a BIG step. I mean, ILY's were said, shower sex was had, Jake received a few paintballs to his . . . well, balls. All-in-all, I'd say you all hung in there like troopers!**

**So, what about the next morning? How do we see that going?**

**Well, it's here, so let's find out, shall we?**

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><p><strong>Chapter 19. One New Experience After Another<strong>

Sleep is easily found whenever I'm wrapped in Edward's arms, but after playing paintball all afternoon, then returning home where we let our adrenaline take control and finally made love, we were especially exhausted. Our first time wasn't tender and sweet, either. We weren't lying in bed, gazing lovingly up into each other's eyes while we moved to the rhythm of sappy love songs as candles cast a warm glow over our naked, writhing bodies—not that it isn't a very appealing idea for the future. No, instead of the tender first time I figured would happen—again, not complaining—Edward and I experienced something far beyond that. What we shared wasn't just loving, it was primal. It was dirty-talking, fucked-me-against-the-shower-wall wild . . . but through most of it, we held each other's gazes, speaking volumes with just our eyes and bodies.

And every time I think about it, I feel a dull, throbbing ache between my thighs.

Behind me, Edward's breathing is deep and heavy, but I've been awake for the last ten minutes, recalling with picture perfect clarity every friggin' detail of the amazing shower sex . . . Of course, this vivid recollection is partially due to the fact that Edward's dick is pressed firmly against my ass—and it's hard.

I like the way it feels against the bare skin of my backside, resting snug along the crevice between my cheeks. The ache intensifies until the steady pulse is all I can think about, and I can feel the warmth of my arousal wet the apex of my thighs. I press my legs together to try to dull the sensation, but this only forces my ass back into Edward's erection—and he responds with a soft, sleepy moan and a gentle thrust of his hips.

I bite my bottom lip to keep from whimpering, and I peer over my shoulder. His eyes are still closed, his furrowed eyebrows relaxing again, and his breathing is deep and rhythmic, signaling he's still fast asleep. While it wasn't originally my intention to wake him up, I'm a little bummed that he's still passed out. I mean, here I am, my body screaming at me to seek out release, and he's out like a light with his stiff length pressed against my backside.

Maybe if I try again . . .

Still craning my neck to watch his face, I begin to shift my hips, pulling them forward and feeling the tip of his erection slide down the length of my ass, and then push them back. However, instead of his dick going back to its original position, I realize I may have moved too far forward, because it's now between my thighs, gliding easily through my slick arousal. There's no suppressing my moan, and my hips move again, as if of their own volition, until his dick touches my clit.

Edward sighs, his arm moving from where it's draped over my waist until his hand rests under my breast . . . and then he lets out a quiet snore and rolls onto his back and away from me.

It appears as though I wore the poor guy out yesterday with paintball and wild shower sex.

I'm not going to give up, though, because I'm not a quitter. If I'm passionate about something, then I always see it through to the end . . . and after yesterday, I'm more than passionate about sex with Edward. He's like a drug to me; I'm addicted to him like a junkie is to heroine . . . or, so I've heard.

My neck begins to hurt, so I roll onto my back and prop myself up on my elbows, draping the sheet across my chest as I try to work out my next move. I let my eyes roam his features, travelling down his bruised chest and over the thin sheet that we share. It's so thin that I can see the outline of his thick thighs and the deep shade of his sun-kissed skin through the crisp white colour—as well as the rather large tent he's pitching with his erection.

Even though I've seen it before, I slowly grip the edge of the sheet and lift it off our bodies until I've got it in my sights. What can I say? I'm deeply fascinated by this part of his body. As I blatantly stare at his erect dick and remember exactly how it felt inside me last night, the throbbing between my thighs grows, moving up inside me until my entire body quivers.

Then an idea comes to me—a deliciously naughty idea that's _guaranteed_ to wake him up.

I'm sure if he could see me, he'd describe the look in my eyes as mischievous as I slowly work the sheet down our bodies with my feet. The cool air makes my nipples harden, and I think back to last night when Edward circled his tongue around them one by one.

I force the thought from my mind—well, mostly, because I'm sure that remembering his technique will probably come in quite handy with what I'm about to do—and I turn onto my side. Watching his face for any signs that he's going to wake up before I've had a chance to set my plan in motion, I scoot down the bed until I'm eye-level with his erection. It occurs to me that, while I've seen it, I've never really been _this _close to it before—actually, I've never been this close to _anyone's _before.

I'm suddenly nervous now that I'm so close, but I refuse to turn back—not a quitter, remember?—and I reach out and run my fingers along it softly before wrapping my hand around it. It twitches beneath my touch, which is both startling and exciting, and I give it a stroke. The motion is somewhat stilted, so I remove my hand and gather more moisture from between my legs, just like I did the first time I gave him a hand job, and place it back on his erection. This is definitely better; my hand now glides over his length with ease as I continue to pump up and down. It's fascinating to watch my hand work his body this way—even more so when a little bit of fluid appears on the head of his dick.

It would be a blatant lie to say I'm not more than just a little tempted to taste it—to take him in my mouth and bring him to orgasm. The thought is still a little shocking to me considering it's something I never thought I'd ever want to do, but that doesn't make it any less arousing.

The steady pulse between my thighs has picked up, and the skin there is slick with arousal; what stuns me is that I've worked myself into this state with mere thoughts and the sight of Edward's pleasure—even if he is still sleeping.

It suddenly occurs to me that this is probably wrong on several levels. Is he going to be upset with me for touching him while he's sleeping? It's this particular thought that makes me ask myself how I would feel if he attempted to wake me up the same way . . .

The thought of Edward doing this makes me a little wetter, and I have to stifle a whimper and clamp my legs together for some kind of friction. If Edward doesn't wake up soon, I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands . . . perhaps he'll want to watch up close and personal.

I get so caught up in my musings and watching my hand move up his length—the head disappearing into my palm as I move it up and over, and then bring it back down—that I'm no longer paying attention to him. So, when he speaks, it startles me, making me stop my ministrations.

"Not that I'm complaining, love," he says in his raspy morning voice, "but what are you doing?"

"Um," I say nervously, my cheeks warming as I look into his heavily hooded eyes. I'm kind of embarrassed that I've been caught down here, so close to his groin—almost like I've taken advantage of him somehow. The look in his eyes tells me he's more than okay with it, though. "Trying to wake you up?"

"Mission accomplished." He brings one of his arms up and slips the hand under his head to get a better view of me down here, and he's got a wicked smirk on his face. "And, what did you have planned next? You know, if I hadn't woken up when I did?"

"Um . . ." My cheeks burn even more, and I make a move to pull my hand away from his erection.

"Don't," he orders gruffly, his eyes soft—almost pleading. "Please, don't stop, baby." I listen to him, squeezing a little harder and watching his eyes fall shut as his groan fills the room. "God damn . . . best fucking way to wake up."

His approval spurs me on, so I pump my hand faster over his length, and his hips buck up into my touch, seeking more. I'm feeling a little bolder—confident, even—so I smirk up at him and ask, "What do you want me to do?"

He opens his eyes, the lids heavily hooded as he watches my hand move over his dick. When my palm moves over the tip and then back down, his legs stiffen and he moans. "Take . . . _oh fuck_ . . . take me in your hot little mouth," he pleads.

It's kind of fun to watch him unravel under my touch for once—to know that it's _me_ that makes him feel this way gives me another boost of confidence, and I bring my face closer to his erection. I'm at an odd angle, still kind of kneeling and half-laying beside him, so I pop up onto my knees completely and slip between his legs. He mutters a long string of expletives as I lower my face again. Glancing up at him through my lashes, I see he's watching me raptly, his eyes wide and his chest heaving.

I'm so nervous—but not enough to back down from this if it's going to make him feel good—so I take a deep breath and wrap my lips around his shaft. The salty taste of him fills my mouth, and I have to admit that I'm not repulsed by it. I don't know why I thought I would be, but I'm pleasantly surprised to find that I'm not, and it encourages me to keep going.

"Jesus . . . _fuck_ . . ." Edward hisses, and I hear the soft sound of him fisting the fabric of the sheets or his pillow above me. I can only assume this to be the case since I don't think I'm talented enough to multi-task my first time out.

It's . . . strange—not in a bad way, though. Edward's erection is bigger than the last one I'd been exposed to, so I'm not comfortable enough to take him into my mouth entirely . . . not just yet, anyway. I'll work my way up to it, because based on the videos I saw yesterday, the men really seemed to enjoy that. To make up for it, I place my hand below my lips to act as some kind of extension and move slowly up his length. I'm careful to keep my lips firm against him, and when I reach the top, I swirl my tongue around it before plunging back down. Edward seems to respond positively to this, his hips jolting slightly off the bed.

As my head continues to bob up and down slowly—carefully—I'm beginning to understand what Edward said about him getting as much pleasure out of going down on me; my lower half _aches_ to be tended to . . . it's almost enough to make me throw in the towel and straddle him. _Almost_.

"Fuck, baby," Edward pants above me. "You're a fucking natural at this." My ego swells, and I pick up the pace a little, even feeling confident enough now to look up at him as I continue.

He's brought both of his hands above his head and is gripping the headboard. His lips part, and he's breathing hard while staring deep into my eyes. The intensity of his stare forces me to shift and wriggle between his legs in an effort to quell the throbbing.

I'm so turned on that I can't even suppress the moan that's been building deep in my belly since I wrapped my mouth around him. This elicits a similar—albeit a more guttural—sound from Edward as he releases the headboard and threads his fingers into my pillow-mussed hair. He pushes it away from my face and holds it behind my head while he guides me a little faster . . . then a little deeper—but not too much because he's more than aware of my comfort level. His hips begin to rise and fall off the bed in time with my head, and I'm slowly losing my mind.

Edward's body tenses, holding my head still midway down his length. I try to keep going, but he pulls me off and urges me up his body. While I would have loved more than anything to bring him to climax and tasted him entirely, I'm more than ready to have my needs met, too.

He roughly pulls me onto his lap, and I straddle his hips, feeling his hard dick slip easily between my slick folds. I begin to move my hips, forcing him back and forth between my thighs, but never letting him enter me—even though that's what I want more than anything right now.

I lean forward and press my forehead to his as my orgasm begins to swell and roll inside me like a tidal wave. Our eyes lock, and he tilts his head up to press his lips to mine, pushing his tongue between them and deepening our kiss. I moan at his forcefulness, my tongue caressing his firmly—insistently.

"God I love how wet you are," he murmurs against my lips, and I moan again—unabashedly grinding myself against his dick.

"And I love . . ." I momentarily consider not finishing the sentence because I don't speak this way—ever—but some kind of switch flips in my brain, and I just go with it. ". . . how your hard cock feels against my pussy."

This does something to Edward—something fierce and primal—and before I know it, I'm on my back and he's entering me.

Sans condom.

It feels . . . _Oh. My. GOD . . . _it feels fucking amazing. I didn't fully realize just how different sex without that thin latex barrier could be; it isn't just that we're joined even more intimately—skin against skin—but that he's the first man to ever gain my trust enough to let this happen.

"Edward . . ." I pant, revelling in the way he fills me completely every time he plunges into me.

"That's it, love," he whispers breathlessly, thrusting harder and harder. "Let me hear you."

"Oh god, Edward!" I cry out when he thrusts so hard he hits that sensitive spot inside of me that makes my toes and fingers curl. I desperately claw at his back, trying to pull him closer—even though our bodies are flush against each other and it's physically impossible. "That's it! Holy fuck! Harder, baby, _please_."

Instead of giving me what I want, he stops, and my body trembles as my orgasm threatens to retreat. He looks almost tortured, like he's struggling with something before he leans over and opens the drawer to his nightstand. My eyes follow the length of his arm, and I watch as he grabs a condom. I'm both relieved and saddened that he has the presence of mind to stop—relieved because, even though my form of birth control is almost 100% effective, I can't take any added risks, but saddened because a) I'll miss the intimacy of his skin against mine, and b) because he has to remove himself from me entirely to put it on.

I whimper as he draws his erection from me slowly, almost like he's doing it on purpose to torture me. He's quick to roll the condom on before aligning himself with me again, but instead of entering me right away, he teases me. I dig my heels into his rock-hard ass, hoping to force him forward, but he only smirks.

"Please," I beg. "I want you inside me."

He kisses me softly. "And I want you on top when that happens," he tells me, gripping my hips firmly and rolling us back over.

Straddling him once more, I rise up onto my knees and watch as he brings one of his hands from my hips and grips his dick, lining it up and using his other hand to guide me down slowly; it's the sweetest kind of torture one can imagine, and this new position makes every muscle in my body tense as it fights off my release for a few more minutes.

Once I'm resting flush against his hips, he ensnares my hips again and begins guiding my movements. I get the hang of it soon enough, and place my hands on his chest while my hips move with his hands. He never releases his hold on me, and he starts pulling me a little rougher, my swollen clit rubbing the spot just above the base of his cock. All at once, my body reacts; every muscle tenses, my fingers curl against his strong chest—the nails biting in and leaving little half-moon mark in his skin—and I cry out as Edward's hips thrust up into me in short, precise jolts.

His mouth falls open in a silent cry, so I release my cat-like grip on his chest with one hand and lay it along his jaw, drawing him into my eyes. "I want to hear you," I tell him, my words punctuated by my panting breaths.

His fingers tighten around my hips, tingles of pain quickly morphing into a warm rush of pleasure as the sensation shoots through my body and my toes curl. He pulls me against him, faster and rougher, as he races toward his own release.

"Oh, Bella," he grunts.

"Yes . . ." I whimper as I feel the swell of another orgasm rolling in. "Oh, god."

"Baby . . . I'm going . . . holy fuck . . . I'm gonna come." Then, with a loud, almost roar-like cry, Edward thrusts his hips up into me one final time, pulling my hips against him as our simultaneous release crashes down around us.

Breathing hard, I collapse on top of him, our chests, sweat-slickened and heaving, pressed together. We lay in the almost-silence of his bedroom, the sun filtering in through his balcony window and spreading across the hardwood floors, and bask in post-orgasmic bliss.

Our interlude in the shower had been friggin' amazing, and I honestly didn't think that anything would ever top it—until right now. The way Edward reacted when I gave him a blow job will be burned into my mind forever, not to mention how uninhibited I've become since he started introducing me to everything I've been missing out on. I especially never would have imagined that I'd ever partake in dirty talk, mostly because I was afraid that whoever was on the receiving end of it would laugh at me, essentially killing the moment.

Not Edward, though. There hasn't been one time that I can recall where he's ever intentionally made me feel like what I've said or done has been ridiculous, and he's never laughed at me—not even when I thought he was gay.

As our breathing regulates, I lift my head and rest my chin on Edward's sternum. The smile on my face widens as I take in the serene expression on his face: his eyes are closed, his lips are kiss-reddened and swollen, the corners turned up into a small, contented smile, and his bronze-coloured hair is completely out of control.

"What are you thinking about, pretty girl?" he asks, his voice gravelly and relaxed. He opens his eyes, and I giggle when I deduce that he's still trying to recover from his orgasm.

"Just how amazing that was—and how incredible you are." I sigh and begin drawing shapes on his chest with my index finger.

"Me?" he chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and letting his fingers trail down along my jaw. It makes me shiver, and he smirks. "I can't stop thinking about that damn blow job." I bite my lip and scrunch my nose, readying myself to hear what he thought now that the moment has passed. "It was mind-blowing."

"Yeah?" I'm relieved that I haven't misread him again.

Closing his eyes, he sighs and nods. "Mmm. It's hard to believe it was your first time. You really did your homework."

Reminding me of all the porn I looked up makes me blush, but I wouldn't take it back if I could. Instead of clamming up like the old Bella would have done when reminded of something borderline-humiliating, I shrug. "You know me . . . I take my studies very seriously."

My stomach chooses that minute to growl ferociously, and Edward's eyes widen before searching for the clock on his bedside table. "Damn. I didn't realize it was almost noon." He looks back at me and kisses my nose. "Perhaps we should go and scavenge up something to eat?"

"Okay," I agree, pushing off of him and removing myself from his lap. "I'm just going to go and use my washroom and then grab some clothes."

Edward seems to contemplate this. "Are we expecting company?"

"No," I reply, unsure what that has to do with anything.

"Then, what do you say we forget the clothes."

I'm kneeling on the bed, looking down at him with an eyebrow raised. "You mean . . . you want to walk around the house naked?"

"If it means you'll be naked, then yes," he quips.

I let the idea float around in my mind for a minute before finally agreeing to it. "All right, you've got a deal. No clothes for the rest of the day."

I excuse myself to use the washroom while Edward does the same, and we reconvene downstairs in the kitchen. It's not obvious to me until it's already too late that Edward has asked me to grab a few things from the fridge with one particular thing in mind. The cold air wafts over my naked flesh, and my nipples harden as goosebumps cover the rest of my body.

I back away from the fridge with the fruit in my hands and shake my head at him as he smirks wickedly and stares at my boobs. "You're bad," I tell him, setting the food on the counter in front of him and placing my hands on my hips. He forgets all about our lunch for a moment and pulls me into his arms until my naked body is flat against his, and his dick begins stirring between us.

"So you've said in the past." He kisses me deeply, his hands roaming down my back until he's gripping my bare ass. My body trembles, and the faint tickle of desire grows deep in my belly, radiating outward. "God, I prefer this," he mumbles against my mouth. "Let's never wear clothes when we're home again—they just get in the way."

His lips begin to travel along my jaw and down over my throat, making me wet and horny all over again. I'm beginning to think that I don't really need to eat—that I can probably survive just fine on sex with Edward.

"What do you say, sweetheart?" he asks, his lips reaching the hollow of my throat, forcing me to clench my thighs together.

"I want to agree, baby," I whisper, my voice trailing off to a moan as he lifts me onto the counter, completely bare-assed, and takes one of my nipples into his mouth. He's between my legs now, and all it would take was one small shift of my hips to feel him inside of me again. "But we have this nasty habit of being interrupted."

"I'll set up a perimeter alarm," he offers as he kisses his way across my chest to shower my other breast with affection. "Whatever it takes to make this a possibility."

My fingers weave into his hair, and I arch my back into the sensation as I hold him there. He wraps his arms around me completely, and I feel his erection grow even more solid between my legs. "Fuck, I want you again," he growls, his fingers curling into the skin of my sides.

"Take me," I pant, pushing my hips forward. "I'm yours. Just fucking take me. I'll go grab a condom."

Edward shakes his head, his tongue moving over my nipple several times and driving me crazy. "I brought some down," he confesses after releasing my breast and looking up at me. "I'm not naive enough to think that you walking around nude won't result in some kind of debauchery."

I laugh. "Smart man. Can I make one small request, though, before you grab it?"

"Anything," he quickly agrees. "It's yours."

"Take me . . . just like this . . . just like before."

Our lips meet in a frenzied kiss, and Edward plunges into me without hesitation. At the rate we're going, we'll have sex in every room of the house before the sun sets—and this is a challenge I'm more than willing to accept.

My body must still be sensitive from when we made love upstairs, because it doesn't take long before I feel my orgasm begin to build, and Edward has to step away from between my legs quickly and open the drawer next to us. He opens the wrapper, but before he can position the latex over the tip of his dick, I take it from him.

I roll it over his length slowly, and he pushes my hair back from my face, gazing into my eyes. "You never cease to amaze me."

As soon as the condom is in place, I use my heels against Edward's ass to pull him to me, and he enters me again. With our bodies pressed tightly together, our hips move—pushing, rolling, and grinding—against one another. Every time he thrusts into me, I inch closer and closer to my orgasm, but it isn't until he works a hand between us and begins fingering my clit that I fall hard and fast, crying out his name and loving the way it sounds echoing off the stone floors and walls as he comes, too.

"Twice in less than two hours," I pant, holding him in place to enjoy the sensation of him inside me a little longer. "If I wasn't so damn hungry, I'd suggest round three."

Edward laughs against my chest. "Oh right . . . I promised you sustenance." He pulls out from between my thighs and helps me down from the counter. "Come on. I promise to behave myself until after we're fed."

"Sure, sure," I tease, following him up the stairs before we part ways to clean ourselves up—again.

We meet back in the hall, and I notice that Edward has jeans on while I've stuck to the naked rule. "What the hell?" I demand, raising my eyebrows.

"I've come to the conclusion that it's far too dangerous for the two of us to be naked all day every day," he tells me, his eyes never once leaving my boobs—he loves my boobs with a passion I'll never understand. "How about we try again after we've eaten?"

A positively devilish idea comes to me just then, and I smile. "All right. I'll meet you downstairs in a few?"

I know he can sense I'm up to something, but he nods and heads for the stairs instead of questioning me. Once he's out of sight, I head back to my room and find my denim shorts that he figures should be illegal and pull them on. Now that I know the effect they have on him, I'm pretty sure they're my most valuable WMS: Weapon of Mass Seduction. For a top, I rifle through my dresser until I come up with this really short black midriff top that falls just below my perky breasts and hangs off one shoulder—it looks like something straight out of an 80s movie except a little less . . . scary. Sure, it's made to be worn over a tank top, but that just wouldn't get the same reaction I'm hunting for.

Happy with my wardrobe choice, I start for the door. As I'm walking through, my phone buzzes from my dresser so I grab it and notice I've got a Facebook alert. I know it's dangerous to navigate my messages and walk, so I wait until I'm in the kitchen before I open it.

"Holymotherfuckingshit," Edward quickly mutters, the knife he's using to cut the cantaloupe clattering to the countertop.

I smirk and do a little spin. "You like?"

"It's _indecent_." His eyes travel up and down . . . then right back up and down again. He repeats this process several hundred times, the fruit on the counter forgotten momentarily before he shakes his head. "I fucking love it."

"Masochist," I tease, dropping my eyes to my phone to scroll through Facebook.

"You have no idea." I hear him pick up the knife as I sit at the stool and open the event invite I was sent—from my mother. "What are you looking at?" Edward asks.

"Oh, my mom sent me an invite to something through Facebook," I tell him.

"Oh yeah? What did she invite you to?"

I read the description of the event, and my eyes bug right the hell out of my head as I drop my phone to the counter like it just bit me. "Ew!"

Confused by my reaction, Edward grabs my phone and looks at it; his reaction is the complete opposite of mine, though. "Bella," he says, locking eyes with me, and for the third time since he woke up this morning, I can see that he's excited. "You have to accept."

"W-what?"

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><p><strong>AN2: WHAT THE FUCK?**

**That's totally what you all just said, right? HA!**

**Well, what did you all think? Not a lot happened, aside from them exploring each other a little bit more and Bella pushing her comfort zones and trying new things.**

**But what about that FB invite from her mom? What do you think it was that had her freaked out, but Edward more than excited for her to accept? Leave your guesses in a review, and we'll find out in the next chapter!**

Chapter 19. One New Experience After Another


	20. Touchdown

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

**** If you guys notice any weird spelling errors or spaces, it's likely due to a missing ellipsis or several. Let me know, and I'll go in and fix them. FFn tends to remove the ones with spaces between the periods from time to time ;-) ****

**So, I left you guys with a pretty terrible cliffhanger last time. Okay, "terrible" is probably pretty strong considering it wasn't really a life or death situation—and I've done _that_ to you guys before—but it was still pretty cruel.**

**With that in mind, I'm going to keep this author's note short and sweet and move the fuck on. Edward's got a few things to say, and I know you all enjoy his pervy POV.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 20. Touchdown<strong>

Bella's staring at me, her big brown eyes as wide as saucers; she's shocked by my insistence for her to accept the invite her mother just sent her. Sure, I can understand why she might be hesitant, but—fuck me ten ways from Tuesday—who the hell could blame me for wanting her to go?

"Are you high?" she asks, her eyebrows rising and pulling together.

With a chuckle, I slide her phone back across the counter. "No, I'm not high," I assure her. "I just think this would be a good—no, _great _opportunity."

Her expression remains the same, but her eyes blaze with alarm. "What? How do you figure?" She doesn't give me a chance to respond before she carries on with her tirade. "How is my mother inviting me to a _sex toy party_ a great opportunity?"

"How is it not?" I counter, wiping my hands on the dishtowel and sliding our plated sandwiches and fruit slices over to her. She adjusts them accordingly as I move around the island to take a seat.

"Uh, because _my mother_ invited me." She pauses for a brief second, and I immediately know what's coming. "What if one of your parents invited you to something like this—made you sit through some kind of discussion on favourite positions, or what kind of body oils taste the best? If that's even what they talk about!"

I contemplate this rhetorical situation for a minute before coming to my conclusion. "It would probably be a little off-putting at first," I admit.

"Only at first?" she inquires, sounding sceptical at my casual reply.

I take my first bite, and after swallowing, I shrug. "We're all adults and know all about urges."

A visible shudder moves through her, and I laugh. "I'd prefer not to think about my parents' _urges_, thank you very much," Bella mumbles, picking up her own sandwich and taking a bite.

I'm not trying to force her into a situation that's going to make her feel uncomfortable, but the idea of showing her how much fun certain toys can be excites me. Don't get me wrong, I'll be happy with toyless sex for the rest of time if that's what Bella is more comfortable with, but after this morning—seeing how open she is to trying new things—well, the possibilities might very well be endless . . . I only have to be able to help her see this.

Of course, the second my brain goes back to the events of this morning, my cock begins to harden and pulse. It most definitely wasn't the way I had expected to wake up this morning, but I wouldn't trade the experience of Bella's warm mouth around my dick for anything in the world.

Bella's continued candour is very much appreciated for retraining my focus on the here and now. "I just . . ." She pauses and sets the second half of her sandwich back on her plate. "She's already so open about her sex life—it's borderline traumatic—I can't even begin to imagine what being in a setting like this with her will be like."

"Sweetheart, you do realize that in order to have you—"

Her head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed in warning. "Don't even try to finish that sentence. I'd like to go on thinking my conception was completely immaculate. Like Jesus."

Smirking, I turn to face her and pull her stool toward me, the legs scraping across the tile. Her knees part, making room for my legs between them, and she rests her hands flat on my thighs. My own hands move from the legs of the tall stool until they lay flat against the smooth flesh of her outer thighs, my fingers hooked underneath and lifting them a little. Biting her lip, she moves her hands up until her thumbs are dangerously close to my cock.

"Listen," I begin, leaning in and lowering my voice, "I can understand your hesitation . . ." Slowly, my right hand inches up her leg, teasing the skin below the frayed edges of her God-forsaken shorts—I wasn't kidding before when I said they should be illegal; it's often hard to concentrate with this much of her skin showing. "And if you're really not into it, I'll let it go."

As my fingers inch up over the denim, Bella sighs, her eyelids drooping slightly and her teeth releasing her bottom lip. My smile widens in triumph. "But . . ." I continue, my hand remaining on course, up and over her leg until I'm stroking the thick centre seam along her pussy with my thumb.

"_Fuck,_" she whispers, her hips jerking into my touch. My dick hardens every time I hear her curse because it tells me that she's becoming less inhibited around me.

My nose trails along the soft skin of her cheek until my lips graze her earlobe, and I press my hand against her a little firmer, making her whimper. "Just imagine the possibilities."

"I don't . . . I don't . . ." she pants, wriggling her hips against my hand. "I have no use for that kind of stuff."

"Mmmm," I hum against her neck, feeling the goosebumps rise beneath my lips. "And while hearing that boosts my ego immensely, you have no idea the kind of fun we could have."

"L-like?"

I pull my face from her neck and wink. "Ah, ah, ah," I say teasingly. "Where's the fun in me telling you?" Fire blazes in her eyes and her fingers quickly hook into my belt loops, pulling tightly in an effort to hold me in place. I'm not planning on going anywhere, though.

"So . . . if I accept . . ." I nod once, encouraging her to continue while I try really fucking hard not to hop off of my chair and dance like I've just scored a touchdown. "What should I buy?"

"Whatever might interest _you_," I tell her, making sure to emphasize the fact that, while I'll reap some of the benefits, this should be all about her and what _she_ wants.

"Okay." She nods once, still looking a little nervous. "I'll, uh, definitely think about it."

Unable to contain my enthusiasm any longer, I lean forward and press my lips firmly to hers. My hands move around and grip her ass, pulling her quickly into my lap. Yes, it's been less than an hour since the last time we had sex, but I just can't keep my hands off of her. After weeks of foreplay, we've broken some kind of dam, letting a once-suppressed river of unresolved sexual tension free.

Bella's arms wrap around my neck, and I feel the sensual tingle of her fingers working their way into my hair as her tongue slides over mine. It amazes me to see just how carefree she's become as her hips begin to move with abandon over me. Yes, it's more than a little uncomfortable to have my cock trapped behind denim, but I have no doubt that this will soon be rectified.

My hands continue to cup her ass, moving down until my fingers are caressing the back of her inner thighs right near her pussy. I can feel the telltale dampness of her arousal, and I thrust my hips up into her out of instinct—discomfort be damned.

"How . . ." she mumbles against my mouth. "How is it possible that I want you again already?"

Her hips begin to slow above me, granting my cock a momentary reprieve, and I let my hands wander up her body. They glide up over the soft skin of her exposed waist until they graze the sides of her gorgeous fucking tits. I shift my hands slightly until my thumbs find her nipples, moving over them and loving the way it feels when they harden beneath my touch.

It's not enough to just _touch_ her breasts, though; I need to see them, too—watch how my touch affects her body.

She's more than compliant in aiding the removal of her top by raising her arms above her head, and I toss the sad excuse for a shirt to the floor. Taking a minute, I give her now-visible breasts my undivided attention, pulling one of her nipples into my mouth while I continue to manipulate the other between my thumb and forefinger. Her back arches, pressing her chest even closer to me, and I moan against her breast.

I need to get her fucking naked.

Mustering all of my willpower, I release her tit from my mouth and cup her ass firmly so I can stand without removing her legs from around me. Somewhat startled by my sudden decision, her hands clamp down on my shoulders, and she gasps lightly. It only takes a second for her to realize I've got her and that I'll never let her go, and she relaxes, leaning forward and kissing my jaw before making her way back to my mouth.

When I make it to the bottom of the stairs, my need to be inside of her overwhelms me, and a burst of adrenaline surges through me as I prepare to launch us up the stairs and to my bedroom. Thankfully, Bella seems to be on the same page, but her idea is much better than mine.

"The couch," she mumbles against my lips. "I want you to fuck me on the couch."

I'm not a man who needs to be told something like this more than once, so I reroute us for the living room immediately and set her on the back of the couch while I stand with her legs still tightly wrapped around me. Bella's hands loosen from around my neck, and she runs them down the front of my body, shifting her hips away from me so she can undo my jeans and push them down my legs.

The minute she discovers that I haven't got any underwear on, she stops kissing me and looks down between us as she wraps her hand around my dick. "Commando, Mr. Cullen?"

She pumps my cock, and I groan, letting my head fall back. "Yes, ma'am," I tell her in a gravelly voice as she moves her hand back and forth slowly. The sensation of her hand running up my length, her palm running over the head and then back down has me struggling to hold my orgasm at bay. It doesn't seem to matter that I've already come twice this morning; it would appear that I have reverted back to the stamina of my teenaged years.

Because I'm unsure just how much longer I'll be able to hold back, I pop the button on her shorts and thrust my hand inside, stroking her pussy several times before pushing two fingers inside of her. Her free hand flies back up and grips the hair on the back of my head, forcing my lips to hers in a desperate kiss.

The muscles in my lower abdomen begin to tighten, and I pull my face from hers, looking down into her eyes. She's breathing heavily, her chest heaving, and her lips are red and swollen. Wriggling on the back of the couch, she works her shorts down and kicks them off, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she watches me retrieve a condom from my pants and slide it on. While I would love absolutely nothing more than to be inside of her without the thin latex sheath, I know that this will dull the sensation slightly, and hopefully I'll be able to last a little longer.

The minute the condom is in place, Bella moves to wrap her legs around me and draw me toward her again, but I decide to try something a little different this time—if she'll go for it.

She seems confused when I grip her hips and pull her from the couch. "Edward . . . what are you . . .?" It doesn't take her long to understand as I kiss the tip of her nose before turning her around and pressing my body against the length of her back.

"Trust me," I whisper before planting a soft kiss below her ear. She nods, sighing softly when I drag my lips down over her neck while my left hand moves up from her hip and to her shoulder. With my right hand still on her waist, I gently bend her over the back of the couch and run my left hand up and down the length of her back.

Whimpering, Bella wiggles her hips and takes a step back until my cock brushes her slick pussy. "Please," she pleads, glancing back over her shoulder at me as I continue to run my hand up along her spine until I grip her shoulder firmly and thrust into her.

"Oooh, shit . . ." she groans, and I slowly pull back before pushing into her again a little faster.

I repeat this process several times: slowly pulling out of her and then quickly re-entering her, the sound of my skin slapping against hers every time pushing me that much closer to my orgasm.

Well, it's either that or the sound of her very positive reaction to our new position.

My gaze follows my hand up and down the length of Bella's spine, noticing the way the muscles in her back tense every time I slam into her from behind. The rolling waves of my climax continue to build as my eyes continue down along her body until I'm watching myself withdraw and re-enter her over and over again. "Jesus," I hiss. "_Fuck_."

"Yes," Bella moans, bracing her hands on the back of the couch and clenching the white fabric. "Harder . . . _ooooh, god . . __. _Edward!"

And that's it. Bella's fingers curl further into the couch, her pussy tightens around me, signalling her own release, and I grip her hip and shoulder tightly as I come. I'm completely spent and out of breath, but in no way am I ready to separate our bodies, so I lean over and kiss the back of her neck, pumping in and out of her slowly still.

Bella moans softly, wiggling her hips and trying to pull away from me. Silly girl. "I . . ." she starts to say, her voice hoarse and sounding almost like a whimper. "I don't think I'm ready yet, baby."

I smile, pressing another kiss upon the skin of her shoulder. "Me either," I confess. "But I'm also not ready to be apart from you just yet."

Bella giggles softly, pressing her ass back against me. "Keep saying shit like that, and I'll be forced to have my way with you," she teases, glancing back over her shoulder again.

The final waves of euphoria begin to fade, and I know it's not logical for our bodies to stay together like this all day. Plus, I still have to discard the condom. With a collective groan from both of us, I grudgingly peel my body away from hers and reach down to pull my jeans back on before heading to the washroom.

As I pull them up over my ass, I watch as Bella winces slightly when slipping her left foot into her shorts, and I immediately feel like a super-douche. I've been so consumed by my carnal impulses that I seem to have forgotten that her body is probably still fatigued from our afternoon of paintballing yesterday, not to mention the fact that we've made love four times in less than twenty-four hours. If I had to place money on it, I'd say her sex life before me wasn't this voracious.

"Bella?" I inquire softly, reaching out and grazing her elbow with the tips of my fingers. She looks up at me as she fastens her shorts. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

She smiles, but I can tell she's trying to hide the discomfort I know she must feel. "I'm fine . . ." I'm about to call bullshit when she shrugs lightly. "Just a little sore, I suppose. I'll _be_ fine."

I pull her to me and press a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, love. Maybe a warm soak in the Jacuzzi will help," I suggest, taking her by the hand and leading her for the stairs, ignoring the fact that her shirt is still in the kitchen.

"You'll join me, right?"

Laughing, I turn my head toward her as we reach the top of the stairs and head for my room. "I don't think that will result in you resting."

"Don't trust your will-power, huh?" she challenges playfully.

"My will-power is surprisingly absent when you're naked," I confess, stepping into my washroom and sitting on the edge of the tub to run the bath water.

My attention is on the temperature of the bathwater, so it isn't until I hear Bella's denim shorts hit the tile floor that I turn to look at her. She's naked again, and like I just said, my will-power has left the building.

When she juts her bottom lip out into a pout, I laugh at how adorable she is. "Please?" she begs before making an "x" just above her left breast. "I promise to keep you in line."

I don't even pretend to weigh the pros and cons of soaking in the over-sized tub with her, and I'm on my feet in seconds and reaching for the button of my pants. Bella's quick, though, and has them undone and falling down my thighs immediately.

"You were right," she says, pressing her naked chest to mine and standing on her toes so her lips brush mine. "You have absolutely no will-power when I'm naked. It's like some kind of super-power."

I laugh, because thinking of Bella using nudity to render me helpless is . . . well, it's entirely fucking accurate, actually. Though, I wouldn't call it a super-power, per se . . . it's more like kryptonite, in comparison.

It isn't until Bella steps back and looks at me quizzically that I realize just how deep into the _Superman_ analogy I've fallen, and I give my head a shake. "Sorry. My brain took a little detour." I step off to the right and extend my left arm toward the tub. "Shall we?"

Bella takes a hold of my outstretched hand and steps over the side of the tub, settling in the centre of it to wait for me to join her. Before I do, I grab two towels from the shelf in the corner and set them on the vanity before stepping into the hot water and leaning back against the side. The minute I'm settled, Bella twists her body and scoots up until her back is flush with my chest, and we both release a relaxed sigh.

"So, what are we going to do for the rest of our afternoon?" Bella asks, running her hands along my thighs. It's not remotely sexual—or, at least, I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be, but the truth of the matter is, whenever Bella's hands are on me, my dick automatically relates it to sex.

"I don't know," I tell her softly, bringing my hands up to rub her shoulders. "Do you want to go out?"

"Mmm," Bella groans as I start to work her shoulders a little harder; she's feeling a little tense, and I feel partially responsible, having ravaged her non-stop since yesterday evening. "I don't know . . . I'm kind of enjoying having you all to myself."

I chuckle, leaning forward and pressing my lips to her water-slickened neck. "As am I, sweetheart. But I think we should rest for a bit . . . I just don't want you to feel any more uncomfortable than you already do."

"I'm fine," she tries to tell me again.

"I know you are, but after an exhausting day yesterday, and then feeding our insatiable libidos, I'm just afraid I'll force you out of commission for a few days." I smile, kissing the side of her head as I continue to massage the kinks out of her shoulders. "And I can't have that."

Bella's body softens against me, and she moans her agreement. "Fine. Just . . . don't stop what you're doing. It's friggin' amazing."

We remain in the tub for the next hour or so—right up until the water has turned cold, actually. After we dry off and get dressed, I decide that maybe we should head out into the world for a bit, because staying cooped up in the house with her is bound to turn into us stripping and having sex. True, this isn't the worst thing that could happen, but I was serious when I said I didn't want to wear her out.

We take a long walk around the neighbourhood, our hands clasped and fingers intertwined, and talk about the weeks ahead, being sure to keep the conversation PG.

"What do you do for Christmas every year?" I ask as we turn onto a path that leads us through a park.

"Um, we usually fly my dad's mom out and have dinner at my parents' place. Mom cooks a mean turkey, and her stuffing is to die for." She tilts her head up toward me. "How about your family?"

"We usually meet at my folks' place and have a nice turkey dinner, too." I smirk down at her and give her a playful wink. "Though, I think my mom's stuffing would kick your mom's stuffing's ass."

"Doubtful," is her confident reply. Then, out of nowhere, she gasps and stops walking. I turn to her with confusion, only to be met with her excitement. "What if _we_ hosted Christmas this year? Had both of our families together under the same roof?"

I take longer than she's expecting for an answer—not because I don't want to, but because I need to figure out if we're really ready for that. Sure, we've hosted a Sunday dinner for our parents collectively, but this was Christmas. Christmas is a big deal to most families. I didn't want to be the one to ruin the traditions of, not one, but _two_ families . . . not to mention, I can't be sure my mom wouldn't feel somewhat upset at having to give up hosting to me.

"Never mind," Bella quickly adds. "It's probably too soon. Forget it. We'll see each other the day after." She's rambling nervously, and I use my thumb and forefinger to tilt her face up to me.

"It's not too soon," I tell her, offering her a reassuring smile. "I think it's a great idea, I'm just not sure how easily my mother will give up hosting responsibilities."

"Well, what if we just provide the place? We can let our moms take care of everything, helping them out when they need it."

I nod, thinking that might be something they'd both agree to. "We'll run it by them and see what they think. Perhaps we should invite them over for dinner one night this week?"

As we continue walking, Bella hooks her hand around my elbow and leans against me, and we stroll through the park at a leisurely pace. There are kids laughing and playing on the equipment while they avoid their parents' pleas to head home, which makes Bella and I both laugh quietly so as not to upset the parents further.

"So, what do you want for Christmas?" I ask, kissing the top of her head.

"I haven't really given it much thought, actually," she says with a shrug. "I guess I just want to kick back and relax before I have to go back to school."

Sure, Bella's never really struck me as the type to ask for expensive jewellery, but I still expected something more to go off of when it came to shopping for her gift. I suppose I could talk to her parents—maybe even Alice or Kate—and try to get a few ideas . . .

Then, it's like the clouds roll away, exposing the most obvious answer to my dilemma: it's highly possible that what she wants might actually be the _perfect_ gift for her . . . for both of us.

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><p><strong>AN2: Man! These two are really heating up! ;-)**

**What do you think Edward's Christmas gift idea for her is? Guess away!**

**(also, I should mention that I always seem to plot out a story where Christmas scenes get written in July/August. I don't know why it happens this way, but it does :P)**

**So, I should probably let you all know that there are only between 5-10 chapters left of this little tale. This could change, as I tend to think up zany new scenarios to throw these two into, but I figure 10 more will be the max . . . considering this fic was only intended to be 10-15 chapters, I'd say we've given it a pretty good run :-P **

**This week's recommended reading is a fic I just found. It's a little on the angsty side, but a good read. It really pulls you in:**

**Long Lost Family **by** Lolo84**

**SUMMARY:** When Bella accidentally befriends her husband Edward's estranged family, she sends their lives into a tailspin. Will they survive the fallout when this forces Edward to deal with the past he's tried to keep secret?

**Make sure you leave the author some lovin' :)**


	21. A Whole New Level of Awkward

****A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .****

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

**Okay, I'm going to leave this AN short, because I know you all want to know how this sex party thing goes down ;)**

**Let's do this . . .**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21. A Whole New Level of Awkward<strong>

I pull my truck—that's right, _my truck_—to a stop in front of my parents' house on Saturday morning. It's ten minutes to eleven, which means I'm early for this "pleasure party" my mom has decided to throw.

After getting the invite—and telling Edward I'd consider accepting—I called my mother and asked if she sent me the invite by mistake. She assured me she didn't, and I'm still not entirely sure what to think about that. I mean, whose mother invites them to a sex toy party? It has to be unheard of, right? I would think so, especially given my general discomfort whenever I see her and Dad necking . . . or worse.

Before I can let those particular memories assault me, I put the truck in park and undo my seatbelt. I grab my purse and open the heavy metal door, steeling myself with a deep, controlled breath, and walk up the path that leads to the front door. I'm beyond relieved to see that Dad's cruiser isn't here, meaning he's already at work for the day. I can't even begin to imagine how embarrassed I would have been if I'd have been forced to face him as I attend a _sex toy party_ hosted by _my mother._ I don't think I would be able to go on liv—

The front door opens the second I reach for the knob, and I suddenly find myself face to face with the one person I thought I was going to avoid.

"Dad!" My eyes fall to the toes of my Chucks, then over to the various species of cacti planted beside the doorway. "I, um . . . I thought you were at work . . . that is, um, your car's not here."

One look up at him tells me he's just as humiliated about our encounter as I am—which can only mean one thing: he knows Mom is throwing a party that will enhance their already healthy sex life . . . and worse: that I'm here to attend it.

His face is the brightest shade of red I've ever seen—of course, I bet if I look in the mirror in the entryway, I'd match, or even rival, it—and he, too, is avoiding my eyes like the plague. "Well, my deputy is supposed to be picking me up." He clears his throat loudly. "My cruiser's in the shop until tonight."

"Gotcha." Then a brilliant idea strikes, and I'm confident that I'll be able to restore the idea that I'm still his innocent little Isabella. "Well, I just came by to see if Mom wanted to go for lunch. She's home, right?" I'm so friggin' proud of myself; my voice didn't waver or crack or _anything._ I'll take a big pat on the back, thank you very much.

That's when his eyes meet mine, and I _know_ he knows. But . . . does he know I know he knows? Can I still pull this off? Or is he going to be wondering all day about his wife and daughter bonding over . . . well, bondage and stuff?

I shudder to think this, and instantly find myself back to wondering about do-it-yourself lobotomies.

Thankfully, Dad doesn't call me on it, even though I'm certain he knows I'm lying. I want to cry—not because I'm sorry, but because I don't want him to have to think about . . . _me_ having anything to do with . . . S. E. X.

See? Now I'm spelling it in my head because my father's looking at me in that way that makes me want to run to the nearest church and take a vow of chastity!

"Well, I think your mother has plans for today," he says in a very non-descript sort of way. "But she's in the kitchen. Have a good day, Bells." I feel like he wants to say more . . . maybe even drop to his knees over-dramatically and plead with me to go back to being that six-year-old little girl that looked up to him like he hung the moon.

"Yeah, you too, Daddy."

Then he's gone like a bat out of Hell, and I walk inside, only to be greeted enthusiastically by my mother. It's a stark contrast to my run-in with Dad.

"Bella! You did come!" she enthuses, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. "I thought for sure you'd back out at the last minute."

"Oh, ye of little faith," I quip, even though I did contemplate faking a fever and telling Edward I couldn't go; he was looking so forward to this—and so was I, I just wasn't sure if going to a party hosted by my mother would be the best way to go about this. How am I going to be able to enjoy anything I may buy knowing that my mother knows about it? Sure, she's always been open to talk about all things "sex" with me, but can I handle her constant praise or elation if I pick something she deems "something I'll enjoy" or something that _she_ enjoys . . .?

Oh god. What if I choose something _she_ enjoys, and she tells me all about it? Holy shit . . . who thought this was going to be a good idea?

"Where's Alice?" Mom asks.

I stare at her for a minute, still kind of terrified from my previous thoughts, and then give my head a hard shake. "Oh, she had plans."

When I called Alice the other day to see if she'd come and be here for me as moral support, she felt awful that she couldn't, but she'd already made plans . . . with Jasper. Needless to say, I didn't feel right asking her to cancel considering she was really excited. Even Edward seemed happy when I told him, saying that Jasper had nothing but the sweetest things to say about Alice any time he talked to him.

"And Kate?"

I shrug. "Had to work, and then her boyfriend is picking her up to take her out on a date night."

Mom smiles, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and leading me toward the kitchen. "Well, that's all right. They'll be missing out on all the fun."

Before the rest of the guests show up, I help my mom finish the snack platters. She's really gone all out, having prepared trays of fruits, vegetables, and cheese and crackers. While Mom starts to move them all to the living room, I grab the wine she's selected for the party and grab the plastic wine glasses she left out.

Just as I'm setting the wine on the coffee table, the doorbell rings, and Mom rushes off to answer it. A woman I've never met before comes in, and my mom introduces her as Carmen. She's the party consultant and handles the sales of all the, um, _goods._

Mom offers to help Carmen set up, leaving me in charge of answering the door as the guests arrive. They're all women I've never met before, and once they're all here, we sit in various spots around the living room and wait for Carmen to begin.

It all starts innocently enough as Carmen passes around some massage oils and edible body powders that are apparently applied with feathers, and I decide to consider them as possible purchases. I mean, body oils could probably be pretty fun . . . and edible powders? That means Edward's tongue would be on my body—and I know I like that.

"All right, ladies," Carmen announces, drawing everyone's attention. "Let's try a few ice-breakers." She reaches into her large bag and grabs a stack of square papers and several pens, handing them to my mom to pass around.

I fumble with the bottles of oil and powders before setting them on the coffee table in front of me and take the papers and pens to help pass them along the row of women. I'm curious to know what we're going to do with these new supplies, but before I can even ask, Carmen fills us in.

"So, on these pieces of paper, I want each of you to write your favourite sexual position."

I freeze. _Crazy lady, say what?_

"Then, you'll turn your papers into me—no names, of course—and I'll read them aloud," Carmen further elaborates. "You're more than welcome to speak up and say which is yours. I mean, we're all among friends, here . . . but there's no pressure."

My eyes are probably as big as dinner plates, and I expect at least a few of the other women to be as shocked by this "game" as I am, but as I look around, I see nothing but smiles, hear giggles, and I watch as the ladies jot down what they were told to. Not me, though. It's not because I don't _have_ a favourite position—I have a few in fact, and am looking forward to discovering more in the very near future with Edward—but to share this with a roomful of strangers? With my _mother_?

No way in Hell is that happening. Period.

As if she can sense me thinking about her, Mom nudges me gently. "Come on, Bella," she says quietly. "This is the fun part."

When I don't immediately respond, she turns her body toward me a little more. "Oh," she continues as if just realizing something. "Have you and Edward not . . .?" Her question hangs there while my face warms faster and faster. She's always been perceptive, so when a tiny grin begins to tug at the corners of her lips, I look back down at my empty paper.

"And you didn't phone me to tell me?" she teases—at least, I really hope she's teasing.

"It, um . . ." I croak before clearing my throat and swallowing thickly. "I can't say that calling you was the first thing on my mind at the time."

She wiggles a little as she settles back into the couch. The look in her eyes tells me she wants to hear about it—not necessarily the nitty-gritty details, but something. "Of course it wasn't. You know"—she pushes a chunk of my hair back over my shoulder, and I can see her examining my face through my periphery—"I knew you seemed a little different." My eyes snap to hers, horrified. "In a good way, sweetheart."

The room is suddenly quiet, and I realize that they're all waiting for our papers while my mother tries to weasel information out of me regarding my sex life. I still don't plan to write anything, but my mom assures me it'll be fun, so I quickly write one of the many positions Edward and I have found ourselves in over the course of the week. To protect my anonymity, I fold my paper in half like the rest of them.

Carmen has us put the papers into a little glass bowl and then sets it off to the side before fishing one out. I hold my breath as she opens it, fearing the worst, and only release it when she reads aloud, "Reverse cowgirl." She smiles and looks around the room. "Yes, that is a good one."

"I'll say," one of Mom's friends speaks up. "Of course, I wouldn't have been brave enough to try it if Renee hadn't—"

"Okay!" I exclaim, not needing to hear the rest of that sentence, and all the ladies start laughing. "I'm going to go grab a glass of . . ." I look at the various beverages on the table in front of me—wine, water, iced tea. ". . . Something we don't have in here and give you guys a chance to talk about that."

"Bella, don't be such a prude," Mom teasingly chastises.

All it takes is one word before Mom holds up her hands in surrender: "Grandma."

With that, I leave them for a minute to discuss that, and while I'm in the kitchen, looking through the fridge, I contemplate the position brought up; me being on top last Sunday morning was pretty awesome, and it was fucking incredible when Edward bent me over the couch . . . so what if we put the two together? I bet it would be like . . . like Christmas in July.

The mere thought of it has my body aching for Edward, and I start to imagine accosting him the minute I walk through that front door. My legs feel a little like Jell-O, and my palms begin to sweat as a warm tingle moves through every part of my body and settles between my thighs. For some reason, it still amazes me that after six straight days of having sex that my body can still react this way just by thinking about him.

I'm getting myself all worked up, and I know I need to cool off before I wind up sneaking out the back door and rushing home, because if I do that, I leave without making a purchase. This would be bad, because Edward has promised good times for both of us—no matter what I bring home—and I trust him implicitly to follow through on that.

After drinking a glass of ice cold water in an effort to cool myself down, I wander back into the living room to see that another of my mom's friends has just admitted to what her favourite position is. Apparently "69" is all the rage in her household, and I add that one to my list of things to try, as well.

Okay, so maybe this ice-breaker thing isn't so bad; I am getting a few tips, and as long as no one else admits to their position like the first two women, then I'll be safe from everyone knowing mine.

Naturally, this is not in the cards for me.

After pretending not to stroke out when I learn that my mother prefers something she found in Cosmo called "The Head Game" (seriously, you need to Google this, because I can't even describe how badly I'll need to call my poor, neglected therapist if I were to reiterate it), Carmen pulls out the last sheet.

Mom looks positively giddy, and I know it's not from her having just re-enacted what her and Dad's favourite position is with one of her girlfriends.

Carmen looks up over the page and smiles at me slyly, and I think I see _her_ blush. "You must be very limber."

"Oh, god," I groan, burying my face in my hands as the rest of the women inquire about what my paper says. Since it's out there, anyway, I decide to just suck it up and act like a grownup who has sex.

"Okay, since none of you paid attention to that whole anonymous stipulation, I'll just come right out and tell you."

"Good for you, honey," Mom praises, turning on the couch to face me entirely.

"But first . . ." I reach forward and grab my mom's wine glass from the table and drink it back quickly, letting the warmth bathe my tongue and coat my throat. "Okay, so on top is good, and I really like it when he's sitting up, too." I pause for a minute, and some of the women mistake this for me being done and are slightly disappointed, so I quickly add on, "But what made it all even better was when I kept my knees bent and laid back on the bed between his outstretched legs. I used his ankles for leverage, and it was . . . well, it was incredible."

I'm a little horrified that I've just confessed this to my mother, and I briefly wonder if she'll ever look at Edward and me in the same way again whenever we're all in a room together. Probably not, because she can barely look at us in our kitchen after having only caught us making out in there.

One look around the living room, and I can see that every pair of eyes is on me, intrigued by the idea, before they all start chattering about how they're going to go home and try it after the party. Even my mother—the queen of "The Head Game"—hasn't done this one, and I find myself feeling kind of . . . _good_ about myself.

I can't explain it, exactly, but for some reason, opening up about this seems to have calmed me down. I'm definitely feeling a little less spastic, so that's got to count for something. In fact, I feel so incredible about this small leap that hearing my mom talk about sex with the ladies doesn't squick me out . . . as much; I _am_ still her daughter, after all.

Carmen seems happy that everyone is getting along and falling into conversation easily, and is more than happy when one of Mom's friends starts talking about vibrators. Once again, my cheeks blaze when Carmen grabs one from her case, but I'm here to listen and learn . . . and shop.

"Yes!" the woman cries out excitedly, almost choking on the sip of wine she's taken as Carmen hands the toy to her. "The Habit Rabbit! Oh, that's a good one! Right, Renee?"

"Ew," I mutter under my breath, crossing my arms tightly and looking down at the slightly worn knee on my jeans; if I meet my mother's eyes, I'll burst into flames and die.

Of course, because she's sitting next to me, she hears me and gives me a playful little nudge before addressing her friend. "Yes, Liz. It's one of my favourites."

I take a deep breath and try not to acknowledge the "one of" part of her statement as the vibrator makes its way to me. I'll admit, I'm more than a little intrigued—and amused—by this toy. I mean, when they say "rabbit" I didn't think they actually meant _"rabbit."_ This thing has a teeny-tiny little bunny on the side of it. I take a closer look at it because I'm really not sure it's purpose. Is it to dress up the vibrator? Make it look cute? I mean, they're made to get people off; does it really matter if there's a little purple rabbit on it?

"It's for clitoral stimulation," Mom informs me quietly, clearly having picked up on my curiosity.

"Oh." I laugh, handing it to her next. "Well, that makes a lot more sense than what I was thinking."

"You know," she says, after handing it back to Carmen, "if _that_ interested you, you should check out the Luxury Rabbit." She looks up to Carmen expectantly, and I follow her gaze as Carmen nods and digs in her case before retrieving a purple and white gizmo that looks nothing like the one we just saw. Its shaft is slightly curved—for G-spot stimulation, I'm told even though I already suspect as much—and it's also got another appendage for external stimulation. I begin to imagine all the fun to be had with this; not only could Edward and I use it together, but I also start to think about his next trip out of town and maybe engaging in some FaceTime fun again. Yeah, that could be pretty spectacular.

I immediately add it to the top of my mental list, pushing the body oils and edible powders down some. This thing far outweighs either of them right now.

As more time goes on, we're introduced to a few different vibrators. There are smaller ones, and I am very interested in one of the ones that go on your fingertip. I'm sure it could be fun, so I add it to my mental checklist, too.

Then, Carmen breaks out a contraption that looks like some sort of leg sling to keep your legs upright while your partner is on his knees—so, kind of missionary, but not really. I'm really not sure what to think about it, but my mom is all the hell over it, and I grimace.

Okay, so I'm clearly not as comfortable with her sexuality as I originally thought.

Two more bottles of wine later, and all of the women—who I've learned are Tanya, Liz, Lucy, and Maria—are all talking about how to increase the sensation during sex.

"Brazilian waxing," Tanya speaks up. "I swear by it, and Stefan loves it."

I'm definitely . . . _groomed _in that area, but the idea of doing something so drastically different is enticing. I don't know what I would do, should I decide to go see an aesthetician, but the possibility of surprising Edward excites me; the only thing I'm uncertain of is what his preference might be. He hasn't complained so far, so maybe he likes everything as-is.

Even if this is the case, I think I want to try something else; this is supposed to be when I introduce myself to new experiences and all . . .

I'm just about to inquire further about waxing when my mom interjects. "Charlie would never go for that. He prefers—"

I interrupt her quickly before my brain explodes. "Mom, I'm trying to be all enlightened and mature about this, but if you tell me how dad prefers the lady-scaping, or whatever you call it," I begin, clenching my eyes shut and taking a breath, "well, I might just be forced to have someone hit me over the head repeatedly while I pray for amnesia."

With a laugh, she pats my thigh gently. "You're right, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Truthfully, even though what she was about to say would have probably caused me irreparable psychological damage, I'm glad my mom interjected. If I were to have asked what I wanted to, there's a very real possibility that Mom would have handled it as poorly as me—or planned a joint spa day.

The conversation goes on, talk of landing strips and heart-shaped patches entertaining everyone right up until Carmen brings out the porn DVDs. There are a few that interest me—which I add to my ever-growing list of sexy-time goodness.

When all is said and done, Carmen announces that she'll set up in the kitchen and that we should all look around, write down the items we want, and then come see her individually to make our purchases. The women all get up and walk over to the display, jotting down their items, and I stay back on the couch, confident in my choices. I'm so sure, actually, that I could go make my purchase now, but I don't want to seem too eager—even though I am. I'm not just excited to try them, but I'm interested to see Edward's reaction to everything, too.

I wait until both Tanya and Liz have met with Carmen, and while they're saying their goodbyes and thanking Mom for the invite, I slip into the kitchen and sit at the table with Carmen.

"Where's your list, honey?" she asks sweetly.

I tap my temple. "Up here. I can't risk my mother seeing it."

Carmen laughs. "Oh, Bella, your mother would be thrilled. She's been waiting for the better part of the year to be able to invite you to one of these."

"Well, that's . . . interesting."

Carmen smiles and jots my name down on an invoice. "So, what is it you're interested in?"

Lowering my voice, I rattle off my list. Along with my toys, I purchase a couple of oils, some of the powders, and a few DVDs. Carmen gathers my items and puts them into a very discreet black gift bag, topping it with white and silver tissue paper so it looks like a present and not a travelling sex shop. I give her my credit card, and she rings my purchase through without a problem before giving it back.

"Thank you," I tell her, taking my bag and setting it by the front door before I go and see my mom.

I cross paths with Lucy, and find Mom and Maria talking while they look at that leg sling-thing. _I guess I should be happy she's just looking at it and_ _not on her back, testing it out_, I think to myself as I approach.

"Bella!" she exclaims, setting the black tether down and looking down at my empty hands. "Weren't you just with Carmen? I could have sworn . . ."

I nod. "Yup. Done. I'm actually going to head home before Dad gets back from work," I tell her.

Pulling me into her arms, Mom hugs me tightly. "Thanks for coming, sweetie. I hope you had fun."

I squeeze her back. "I did, actually. I'm glad I had the nerve to show up."

Mom laughs softly. "I bet Edward will be, too."

Pushing away from her, I roll my eyes, but I'm unable to suppress my laugh. "Mom, stop!"

"Go on," she instructs happily. "Go home to your man."

I give Mom a kiss on the cheek before saying goodbye to Maria, gathering up my belongings, and heading to the truck. The drive home feels like it takes forever, but I eventually arrive and am quick to grab my little black bag and run inside.

"Edward?" I call out, locking the door behind me and pulling off my light, fitted sweater—you know, to save time.

"Up here!" I hear him reply from his game room.

Smiling, I pick up my bag and head for the stairs in just my bra and jeans, quickly climbing them. "I hope you're well-rested," I announce as I round the corner and enter the room, "because Christmas is about to come early this year."

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><p><strong>AN2: WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! - totally what you all said, right?<strong>

**Yeah, I know. I just EPICALLY cock-blocked you guys, but for good reason . . . **

**Okay, I don't have a good reason; it just felt like the right place to end the chapter. I promise: the next chapter will not jump forward past their experimental phase. Trust me. We'll see what's about to happen . . .**

**Bella's sexual position (the Arc de Triomph), as well as Renee's (The Head Game), can both be found on the Cosmo website. If you've never tried them, do. They're . . . intense.**

**Most of Bella's embarrassment, as well as her mother's candid confessions throughout the party, was inspired in large part by the sex party my own mother invited me to. Yes, my mom introduced me to vibrators, she bought the leg contraption thing, and she talked about all the weird and kinky positions she and my stepdad find themselves in . . . not something a twenty-something year old girl wants to imagine.**

**I hope you all enjoyed the trip back to Bella's humiliation as well as watching her come out of her shell (even if it was just a little bit more than anyone expected in this situation).**

**Next up? We have a family dinner and then Christmas! And we'll get to find out what Edward's gift to Bella is! FUN TIMES AHEAD!**

**This week's rec:**

**A Life Less Ordinary **by** TwiMistressCullen**

**SUMMARY: **Bella is a single mom, not really looking for anything. But once it's sitting right in front of her, will she be able to make her move and realize she deserves it? AH BxE BPOV


	22. Another WellTaught Lesson

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

_***steps out from behind curtain and taps microphone***_

**Hello? Is anyone still out there?**

**Look, I know it's been just over a month since I last updated, and for that I apologize, but a lot of shitty things happened in July, and we're just now recovering from them. I've had to work more to make a bit more money to help pay for all the repairs to our flooded basement, plus some bad stuff was happening in my personal life that I've since worked out, so things are better. **

**I feel bad for making you all wait, but my personal life had to come before my fic-life this time. Sorry guys :( Can you find it in yourselves to forgive me?**

**I hope so, because I've missed you all so fucking much!**

**A lot of you had what's about to happen pegged . . . so let's see who was right.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 22. Another Well Taught Lesson<strong>

"Christmas, huh?" The voice that responds is not the one I expect as I cross the threshold into the game room to find out that Edward is not alone.

There, standing in front of the TV, playing Xbox Kinect, are Edward and Emmett. I really should have expected as much, because where in the rulebook of my life does it say that I'm allowed a reprieve from any and all embarrassing moments?

Absolutely nowhere, that's where.

Both of them turn around, their expressions equally matched: wide-eyed and slack-jawed. I should expect as much, considering I'm half-naked and all.

"E-Emmett," I stammer, bringing my arms up to cover as much skin as possible, my little black bag hitting my hip in the process and reminding me that this situation has serious potential for getting worse. I decide to ignore that little tidbit, though. "I didn't see your vehicle outside. I didn't think anyone else was here."

"I can see that," he replies steadily, still seemingly stunned by my appearance as he continues to stare.

Unable to take his eyes off of me, Edward reaches over to push Emmett. "I think you need to go." He misses several times before he connects and sends Emmett toppling over; Emmett must not have been expecting it, because there's no possible way that the laws of physics should have been in Edward's favour.

One of my hands flies to my mouth as I bite back a peal of laughter, and Emmett hops back to his feet to retaliate.

"Ass!" I'm sure his pride is a little hurt, but even he's having trouble not laughing as he shoves Edward back.

I watch the two of them for a minute, laughing and roughhousing like a couple of children on the schoolyard when finally I clear my throat. They both stop and look at me, and I place my hands squarely on my hips, not really giving a shit about the fact that I'm wearing only a bra and jeans anymore—Emmett's seen me in a bikini, for crying out loud; this is technically less revealing. "All right, well, I guess I'll leave the two of you alone, then." Edward's eyes widen in shock, and his mouth opens as though he's about to protest. I smirk teasingly and turn around to leave the room, dangling the little black bag over my shoulder as I begin to walk. "I'll just go put my stuff away and put on a shirt."

Edward's a little quicker on the draw this time, locking eyes with me but addressing Emmett. "Sorry, dude, but you _really _have to go."

Emmett shakes his head slowly as he picks his sweater up off the couch and puts it on. "Clearly no one ever taught you the meaning of the saying 'bros before hoes,'" he admonishes in a teasing tone, zipping the front of his hoodie, and I turn on my heel to stare at Emmett, my mouth hanging open in mock insult.

Smiling so wide his dimples deepen, Emmett walks past me in the doorway, winking and punching my arm lightly. "Easy, tiger. I'm only messing around. I'll lock up behind me . . . Edward, I'll talk to you later about the party."

The minute Emmett hits the stairs, and I hear the door close behind him, I turn to face Edward. "Party?"

I'm pleasantly surprised to see he's no longer over by the couch, but within arm's reach. When he reaches out and slips his fingers behind the waist of my jeans to pull me to him, his thumbs deftly unbuttoning them, I almost forget everything that has happened up until now.

Then his lips find the skin of my neck, and every cell in my body feels like it's melting.

"His bachelor party," Edward whispers, his warm breath fanning over my skin and giving me goosebumps. He continues kissing me softly, every once in a while nipping and licking at my skin, and then slides one of his hands into my jeans, finding me wet with desire for him. Back and forth, his fingers move, and my hips instinctually begin to rock in time with them.

"Like . . ." I pant breathlessly, his lips continuing their path down toward my shoulder and his hand moving somewhat restrictively within my jeans. "With strippers and stuff?" The thought of him sticking dollar bills into a girl's g-string because she's got daddy issues doesn't exactly make me jump for joy, but I'm not going to be the type of girlfriend who tells him what he can and can't do; he's done the crazy girlfriend thing, and that's just not my style.

Edward's lips turn up into a smirk against my skin. "If Rose lets him have his way, then probably."

Slowly, Edward's other hand—the one that's not in my pants—inches up my back, sending ripples of warm pleasure shooting through me. I'm so lost in the sensation of his touch that I am ashamed to admit his intent doesn't dawn on me until my bra loosens around me.

"Besides, I'm sure Rose will probably invite you to her stagette," he continues. "And I guarantee you she'll be doing the same thing." He's drawing me closer and closer to release, as only he has, and I drop the bag to the floor and fist my hands in his hair.

"One problem with that," I tell him breathlessly, and he stops kissing me to meet my gaze, confusion etched in the lines of his furrowed brow. "I still have that whole 'turning twenty-one' thing to do, so no dancing naked men for me." Pausing, I smirk and arch an eyebrow suggestively. "Unless . . ."

Edward's laugh fills the game room, and his hand stops moving in my jeans as he smiles apologetically. "Sorry, baby." He leans forward and kisses me softly. "I can't believe I didn't think of that." Then he mimics my pause and ups the ante with a wink. "And, perhaps if you play your cards right, you might get front row seats to a striptease of your very own . . . very soon."

I pretend to be appalled. "Front row? I better be in the _only_ row, mister."

We've gotten a little off track, so I let one of my hands move down his body between us until it rests on the buckle of his belt to remind him of where our little reunion was headed. "Now, where were we?" I pull the leather free from the buckle and tug it open before working the button through the eyelet and sliding his zipper down.

Groaning, Edward leans in and kisses me again, his tongue seeking mine out immediately. I push the front of his jeans open as his lips leave mine and trail down my jaw and back to my neck. The sensation makes me quiver, and I'm just about to slip my hand inside his pants, when he pulls his face from the crook of my neck to look me in the eye.

"So," he says in a raspy voice. "What kind of fun are we going to have, sweetheart?"

My brain still seems to be misfiring, and I'm having trouble regulating my breathing. "Huh?"

"The bag, Bella," he clarifies with a smirk as he draws his hand from between my legs—much to my chagrin. "What's in the bag?"

"Oh, right." I shake my head and laugh at myself. "I almost forgot. Here," I tell him, abandoning my task and bending over to pick the bag up. My bra threatens to fall down my arms, so I clutch it to my chest before standing back up and holding the bag out for him to look through.

Instead of taking it—which I find odd—he shakes his head. "I want you to show me."

"Sh-show you?" I stammer, suddenly feeling more nervous than the time we fooled around over FaceTime. He only nods once, never breaking our stare. "But I've never—"

Before I can finish, Edward takes me by the hand and leads me down the hall to his room. "We've never let that stop us before, now have we, sweetheart?" he inquires, his excitement radiating off of him as he sits on the edge of his bed and looks at me standing before him with the bag clutched tightly in my hands.

"No, but . . ." I begin to protest, but when his eyes meet mine, I stop and realize he's right. Nodding, I look down, my hair falling forward around my face. Before I can move to tuck it behind my ear, Edward reaches out and does it for me, his fingers lingering on my skin and sparking the fire within me . . . all with just a single touch.

He brings his other hand up while letting his fingers move slowly from my cheek down my neck, and I shiver as they roam over my shoulders and loop beneath the straps of my slackened bra. Moving slowly, he pulls them down my arms until I let it fall to my wrists, shifting the bag to the other hand so the garment can fall to my feet.

With trembling hands, I reach into the bag and begin showing Edward everything I bought today. I pull out the oils first, and Edward smirks, obviously liking the idea. He likes it so much, in fact, that he grabs my open jeans and pulls me closer before slipping his hands in, his palms flat against my hips, and pushes them down my thighs.

He assists me in stepping out of them before both hands are on one leg and slowly moving back up. His fingers on the hand that's touching my inner thigh stops at the apex between my legs and strokes lightly, making me moan and my body shudder, and I swallow thickly as I let the heat of his touch overwhelm me.

"What else?" he asks, leaning forward and pressing a kiss just below my belly button.

Trying my hardest to refocus my attention, I reach into the bag and pull out the vibrator I bought. Edward's smile widens as he looks at the box, and his head begins to nod positively. "Good choice," he says, and a part of me wants to ask if he's used this particular model in the past with a girlfriend, but my common sense tells me that this is not really the best time.

"Is that everything?" I shake my head slowly as I reach inside for the smaller vibrator, and Edward's eyes light up even more. "Oh, Bella," he says, reaching out for the package.

The deep, gravelly sound of his voice vibrates through me, and the pulse between my legs intensifies; the wait is killing me, so I tap into my newfound vixen and take the package from him, opening it. "You wanna play with this one first?" I ask in my most sultry voice.

Nodding, he stands up and removes his shirt and pants quickly. It kind of bums me out that he didn't let me assist, but I rationalize that we're now both naked, which will save us time getting to the main event. Yes, this seems to appease me for the moment.

"Lie back on the bed," he commands softly. "And I'll slip this"—he takes the small vibrator from me and slides it onto his index finger—"on my finger."

With it in place, I do as he asks, and he joins me, sidling up to me. He flips the little switch on the vibrator and lowers it to my shoulder, hovering just above it and ghosting it over my flesh. The gentle hum brings goosebumps to the surface of my skin, and I bite back a moan when he presses it to the pulse point at my wrist. With a chuckle, he continues moving it over my body, still barely touching me except for the odd time when he wants to get a reaction out of me—and react, I do.

He's reduced me to a jittery, horny mess as he moves down my body, occasionally kissing me on his descent. Slowly, he moves down around my heel and up toward my inner ankle, pausing to press his finger just above it. My leg jerks slightly, and he chuckles as he lowers his lips to my calf. "Easy, sweetheart," he breathes, his warm breath fanning across the heated skin of my leg.

"Sorry," I pant, lifting my head and looking down to find him smirking up at me. "I just . . ." Slowly, he moves up until the vibrator is pressed behind my knee. This does something unexpected, and the deep vibration moves up my leg, intensifying the heady pulse between my thighs. "It feels amazing, and I . . ." The sensation of him moving his finger in circles behind my knee catapults me further—something I didn't know was possible—and I have trouble maintaining my train of thought. "I . . ."

"You what, love?" Edward asks, the tone in his voice telling me he already knows.

"I need you," I finally finish, panting. "Now."

Instead of complying _immediately _like I think he should, Edward smirks and shakes his head. "Sorry, we're not quite done here."

I whimper, feeling two conflicting things: one part of me is ecstatic that he's taking his time, but the other—much hornier—part of me is positively aching for him to touch me. When he finally moves from my knee and travels up the inside of my thigh, I begin a continuous, and rather desperate, cheer of _"yes, yes, yes!"_ The minute I'm about to praise God, though, he bypasses my pussy, ghosts over my hipbones, and moves up my belly. It's frustrating, but the minute he reaches my breasts and uses the vibrator to stimulate my nipples further, I forget my disappointment and get lost in the body-numbing sensation.

"Edward . . . _please_," I plead, and before I can continue begging, his lips are on mine and he's sliding between my legs. Bells and whistles—no . . . a chorus of Angels start singing in my head when I feel his stiff erection against my pussy. Pressing the vibrator harder against my nipple, he shifts his hips, sliding his cock through my arousal and increasing the pleasure that's currently coursing through my entire body. My body feels like it's on fire, the surface of my skin tingling and humming as both sensations shoot through my body and gather in my belly, culminating into what feels like my biggest orgasm yet.

"God, Bella," Edward says, breaking our kiss and pressing his forehead to mine. "I love how wet you are for me." Hearing him talk this way always leaves me breathless and wanting more . . . so much more.

My hips move in time with his as I try to bring myself closer and closer to the precipice of release. I can feel it . . . it teeters just out of reach, and I know that soon I'll achieve it; he'll get me there. My muscles all begin to tighten as the head of his cock teases my clit, and I release a loud moan when he moves back and slowly enters me.

He only moves a couple times before he tries to stop and pull out. "Wait!" I exclaim desperately, using all the strength in my trembling legs to hold him inside of me. "Forget the condom this time. I need to feel you—all of you . . . _please._"

"You're sure? I don't want you to regret this decision or for something to happen." I love him just a little bit more for the care and concern he's always taken to ensure we're extra safe, but the truth of the matter is, my method of birth control is pretty effective when you get the shot on time.

"I'm sure," I reply softly, and he picks up his pace again, propelling me right back to the edge of ecstasy.

He moves above me, thrusting in and pulling out slowly. It's both amazing and torturous, and my entire world is turned upside down and spun around when he pushes up onto his knees and slides the hand with the small vibrator from my breast and down my body, finally using it where it was meant to be used.

"Holy fuck!" I cry out, throwing my head up off the pillow and tightening my legs around him as he presses the small device to my clit, working it in slow, precise circles while his hips continue to move back and forth. Our eyes lock, and I can tell he's close even before his hips begin moving a little more erratically.

"Baby." His voice comes out in almost a low growl, and he makes another quick pass over my clit. His gorgeous green eyes wander from mine and down my body, his eyelids hooding further when he watches his dick thrust in and out of me slowly. Watching him watch us fucking makes my need for him grow even more, and my legs clamp down around him as I cry out, my muscles tightening a little more. "I'm going to need you to come now," he commands, moving the vibrator in slow, precise circles.

And that's all it takes; he increases his efforts on my clit, and his hips move faster and harder, but not really very rhythmically, as we ride out our orgasm together. The room is filled with our cries, and Edward quickly pulls me up onto his thighs with his free hand, keeping the vibrator on my tender, swollen flesh as he coaxes yet another orgasm out of me. My arms and legs tremble as I try to keep myself on his lap, and I feel his cock pulse inside me as he comes with a growl.

Everywhere our skin touches is slick with sweat, and the combined sound of the mini vibrator, our laboured breathing, and my steady pulse in my ears is like music to my ears in the wake of our love-making. The buzzing stops, issuing my lower body a reprieve for the next little while, and Edward removes his arm from between us.

"How was that, love?" he asks, burying his nose into the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply.

"Fucking amazing," I reply, still feeling a little breathless. "Who knew that something so small could evoke something so huge from the human body?"

"Size isn't everything," Edward says with a smirk against my chest and a half-teasing tone.

Even though my entire body feels spent, and I don't think I could lift my arms and legs to save my life, I arch an eyebrow at him. "Easy to spout that shit when you're packing."

His smile widens, and he pulls my hips against his once more, my hypersensitive clit hitting his pelvis and making my eyes to roll back. "I wasn't really looking for validation in that area, but thank you." My abs hurt a little as I laugh, having just gotten the best workout ever, and Edward chuckles against my neck, lowering us to the bed and pulling out of me.

"Seriously, though," I say, looking up at the ceiling as he continues planting soft kisses over my sternum, his body still tucked firmly between my thighs. "That thing is amazing. I never expected it to be so . . . I don't know . . . _efficient_?"

Edward exhales a silent laugh and raises his head slightly. "Size matters not," he says in what _I_ think is a dead-on impersonation of Yoda, bringing the hand with the vibrator still on it up and flicking it back on. My lower body tenses when the sound registers in my brain as immense pleasure—sensory recall and all that—and I bite my lower lip as he brings it back down to my breast. "Judge me by my size, do you?"

"Jesus . . . _fuck_," I mutter, dropping my hands to my sides and fisting the sheets tightly.

"Little green Jedi masters do it for ya, sweetheart?" Edward teases before lowering his lips to my other breast.

The vibrating along with the gentle swipe of his tongue and the occasional graze of his teeth over my perky nipple shoot through me, joining together and settling between my legs. My reaction to his touch has his dick hardening against my needy flesh once more, and I move my hips against him, making him moan against my breast. Because I'm still coming down from the last orgasm, I feel this one swelling barely out of reach, and I know it'll roll over me soon.

"Yes!" I cry out, but then quickly realize how this could be taken as my response to his question. "I mean . . ." He pushes harder with his finger, and my brain loses focus, making "more" the only thing I can think to say. Soon enough, Edward's pushing into me again and taking me frantically.

Within minutes, we're both a trembling mess of post-orgasmic bliss, collapsing back on the bed with our limbs tangled together and our breathing rough and ragged. When I'm finally able to use my arms again, I reach between us and pull the small vibrator from his finger and shut it off. "Is it strange that I plan to name it Yoda now?"

Edward's loud laugh fills the room and he rolls onto his side and kisses my shoulder. "A little, but I promise not to judge too harshly," he jokes, looking up at me with a wink. "What do you say we clean up and go grab a bite to eat? I don't know about you, but I'm fucking starved."

Nodding in agreement, I excuse myself to use the washroom, and when I return, Edward takes his turn while I throw on one of his T-shirts and head downstairs to prepare something to eat.

I'm putting together a couple of sandwiches when I feel warm arms around my waist and a head on my shoulder. His lips touch down on my neck briefly, and I smile, bringing my hand up and placing it on his cheek as I turn to give him a quick kiss.

"I don't know if I've told you lately," Edward says, "but I love you."

"You tell me almost all day, every day," I inform him, smiling. "But I never tire of hearing it. And I love you, too."

We decide to eat in the living room so that Edward can watch ESPN—for work, he claims, and since he's a sports agent, who am I to argue his reasoning? While we're eating, Edward asks me about the party, and I tell him it was a lot of fun and that I learned a few things that I'd like to try. When he asks me to elaborate further, I tell him it's a surprise and that he'll just have to wait to find out.

"So that's what that feels like," he mutters, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Did you remind your mom about dinner tomorrow?"

"Damn. I knew I was forgetting something," I tell him. "I'll text her and remind her. Do you think our mothers will be okay with us hosting Christmas?"

Edward smiles. "I think if we spin it right, they will agree to almost anything."

The thought of both of our families under one roof for the holidays excites me, and what has me even more keyed up is for my Gran to meet Edward. Even though she's pretty traditional, she's always been able to keep an open mind about a lot of the modern customs. Now, I'm not entirely sure how she'll feel about the fact that Edward and I are living together having only been together a short time, but I think if it gets explained that we were roommates first and a couple second, she might be a little easier to please. Of course, Edward is a total charmer, and I know that he'll be able to win her over within the first few minutes of meeting her.

Yeah, Christmas with both of our families is going to be pretty spectacular if we can make it work.

**::: Rw/aV :::**

"Baby, can you get the door?" I shout from the kitchen as I check on the lasagna.

I've been in the kitchen almost all day preparing all of the food while Edward has been on a cleaning spree in light of the family dinner we're throwing tonight. While I'm sure we're going overboard, I really want to butter them up before we suggest sharing Christmas together.

"Sure," he says from right behind me, startling me. With a laugh, he kisses my cheek and grabs my ass—because he can—and then returns the cleaning products to their place beneath the sink. "How's dinner coming along?"

"Good." I close the oven and stand up straight. "It should be ready right away."

The doorbell rings again, and I nod him away. "Go let them in before they think we're up to no good in here . . . _again_."

Edward rushes off to answer the door, and I start grabbing plates and cutlery. I've just begun to set the table when I hear Edward and our guests returning. "Can I grab you each a glass of wine?" he inquires, and when I turn around, I see that my parents are the first to arrive.

"Mom, Dad." I abandon the table settings for a moment to greet them both. "Thanks for coming."

Mom pulls me into a bone-crushing hug and kisses my cheek. "Wouldn't miss it." Refusing to let me go, she lowers her voice. "How was your night?"

Trust my mom to make tonight just a little bit awkward—though, I suppose I can be thankful she's keeping her voice down, and also not bringing it up in front of Esme and Carlisle. How humiliating would that have been?

"Fine, Mom," I tell her, exasperated, but trying not to make my embarrassment audible.

"Mine too," she quips quietly so Dad and Edward don't hear her. I know she says shit like this to get a reaction out of me—and I don't disappoint.

"Mom . . ." Feeling a little grossed out, I pull out of her embrace and see her smile widen before she starts laughing.

She winks. "Oh relax, sweetie." Thankfully, she seems to be easily distracted, inhaling deeply and turning toward the stove. "Dinner smells amazing, Bells."

"Thanks. It's, uh, one of Gran's recipes." Knowing just how much my parents enjoy my grandmother's cooking, I felt this was an appropriate choice if I was going to try and get them to agree to Christmas here.

"Oh!" Mom exclaims. "Speaking of Gran, her flight will be in at three on the twenty-third. Your father and I will be working, so would you mind picking her up?"

"Not at all. I'd love to." I turn back to the table and finish setting it. "Did you want me to bring her to the house? I could cook dinner and have it ready for when you and Dad got home."

"That sounds great," Dad interjects.

When Edward clears his throat, we all turn to look at him. "While I trust Rosalie did an exceptional job on your truck, I don't know that you should take it to the airport. Why don't I arrange a town car?"

"It's really not a big deal," I try to tell him, but he just smiles, his eyes pleading with me.

"Please? I'd really rather know you and your grandmother are safe." Understanding his reasoning, I concede without arguing, and Edward smiles victoriously.

When the doorbell rings a second time, I excuse myself to answer it while Edward pours the wine. Bright smiles greet me as I throw the door open, and before I can welcome Edward's parents, Esme pulls me into a tight hug.

"Bella, darling, how've you been?" she inquires. "It feels like ages since we've seen each other."

I squeeze her a little tighter, realizing just how much I care for her and Carlisle already; it still amazes me just how readily our parents accepted our relationship—especially given how quickly everything had happened between us.

"I've been good," I respond as we end our embrace. "How about the two of you? Edward says work is keeping you both busy?"

Esme nods. "It is. I'll be thankful for the few days off around Christmas—not that I'll be baking any less, what with planning a Christmas feast, and all."

Forcing a smile that I hope doesn't look too nervous, I nod toward the kitchen. "Shall we? Dinner should be ready shortly."

I lead them into the kitchen, and we find my parents sitting at the table while Edward is tossing the Caesar salad. "Can I grab you both some wine?"

Nodding, they join my parents and begin talking. After grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, I open the wine and have just touched the neck of the bottle to the rim of one glass when I overhear my mother and Esme's conversation.

The usual pleasantries are there, and they talk as though they've been friends for years. It eases my anxiety over asking a little, because the fact that they get along so well is promising for an unforgettable first Christmas with Edward. But then their conversation takes a turn that neither Edward nor I are expecting.

"Sorry I couldn't make it yesterday, Renee," Esme says, drawing my eyes to them as the wine flows into the glass freely. Beside me, I notice that Edward has stopped moving, also. "Work's just been so busy that I've been unable to sneak away. I do appreciate you giving me Carmen's contact information, though."

The plastic fork that Edward's been using snaps, the loud crack jolting me back just in time to stop pouring the wine before it overflows. I look over to Edward, and the look of utter terror etched into every line in his forehead, and the horror that's registering in his eyes makes me smile smugly.

"See," I say under my breath, "it's not so easy to hear, is it?"

Edward shakes his head and looks at the broken utensil in his hand. He breathes deeply, his nostrils flaring and his upper lip curling slightly in what looks like disgust. "Caught me off guard, is all." I can tell he's trying to appear unfazed, but he's doing a really shitty job of it.

Laughing quietly, I pour some of the wine from the first glass into the other and then top it off with a bit more from the bottle. "Edward, your mother was going to go to a sex toy party . . . a sex toy party where we discussed our favourite positions—where _I_ shared my favourite position." His wide-eyes quickly snap to mine. "Yeah. Let that simmer for a bit," I tease, picking up the glasses and taking them over to Esme and Carlisle.

"Thank you, Bella," Carlisle says, taking his glass.

"Dinner should be ready soon," I announce, heading over to the oven and taking the lasagna out to sit for ten minutes before I serve it. "In the meantime, Edward's got the salad ready." I look to Edward, who's still looking a little stunned. "Edward?"

Smiling, he picks up the bowl, and I grab a new salad fork for him from the drawer. "Right. Here you go," he says, setting the bowl in the middle of the table.

After refilling Edward's wine, and pouring a glass for myself, I join them at the table and we dish up. Daddy eyes me, his eyebrow raised, and I laugh. "It's my first—and will be my only—glass, Dad."

As we all dish out and begin eating the salad, we talk about work—or in my case, school—and then the conversation shifts to the upcoming holidays. Mom and Esme exchange stories from years past, and then talk about what they've each got planned this year.

"Bella," Esme speaks up, and I look over at her. "I know you'll be spending the holidays with your family, but we'd just love if you could stop by our place for a little bit, as well." The look on her face suddenly changes, almost like she's afraid she's overstepped some kind of boundary, and she glances toward my parents. "If that's all right, of course. I certainly don't want to step on anybody's toes."

Before my mom can object to Esme's invitation, I push my chair back and clear everyone's salad dishes away, smiling as I wander toward the sink. "Actually, this is kind of why Edward and I invited you all here tonight." Grabbing the casserole dish, I bring it back to the table and sit down to see all eyes are on me.

My hands begin to sweat, so I wipe them on my jeans and take a deep breath. I'm so nervous that I'm sure they can probably hear how hard my heart is pounding, and I begin to fear that they might think this is a horrible idea. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but my apprehension practically chokes me, refusing to let me say anything.

Thankfully, Edward comes to my rescue.

Gently placing his hand on my rapidly bouncing knee, I feel a bit of my unease lift, and my heart flutters and then calms minutely. "Bella and I were thinking that maybe we'd offer up our home, and we could have both families join together for Christmas this year."

We're met with blank stares, and I inhale a deep breath, gripping Edward's hand in mine tightly and waiting. When they don't say anything right away, I finally find my voice. "It's just, we don't want to lose out on any time with either of you—or each other—and while I know we haven't been together that long, and we see each other every day, we just figured this was a simple solution." I feel winded, so I take a deep breath to replenish my lungs before I continue rambling. "Obviously, we don't expect an answer today. There's a lot to consider. We're not asking that you give up the usual traditions, we're simply offering our space and hoping we can maybe start a few new ones."

Mom and Dad exchange a glance, having one of their silent conversations, and Edward's parents seem to be doing the same. Then they all look at each other before turning back to Edward and me. Even though I doubt that even a minute has passed, I feel like it's been quiet for an eternity. I'm just about to say something—what, I don't really know—but the minute they all smile, I feel my entire body relax and the excited jitters kick in.

"Well, while I can't speak for Esme and Carlisle," Mom starts to say, "I can definitely say that your father and I would be delighted to come here for Christmas. As long as you let me help out in the kitchen so you're not running yourself ragged."

Esme is quick to add on to what Mom said with a bright smile. "We'd be delighted to have Christmas here with everyone. But I'm with Renee . . . I want to help with the cooking and the baking."

Squeezing Edward's hand on my knee out of excitement, I nod emphatically. "Of course. We wouldn't have it any other way," I assure them. "I figured we could all contribute something."

My smile widens until my cheeks begin to hurt as Mom and Esme begin talking a mile a minute about plans and favourite recipes for the holidays, and Dad and Carlisle are the first to dish up their lasagna, sharing their thoughts on the latest hockey game. Watching them get along so well makes me even more excited for the holidays, just knowing that we'll all be under one roof for an entire day. Honestly, I'm so happy with the way this turned out—even though I know I really shouldn't have expected any less—and I can't wait for the next two and a half weeks to fly by.

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><p><strong>AN2: Okay, so there is the LOOOOONG overdue chapter 22. I've started on ch23, and I can tell you that it is the Christmas chapter, so we'll see what Edward's brilliant idea for Bella's gift was. I'm pretty excited about it ;)<strong>

**Let me know what you thought in a review! I've missed them so!**

**A very special shout-out to tds88, one of my beautiful betas. In every chapter she looks at, she's always relating something to a movie or TV show, and she related the vibrator to Yoda . . . I felt it only fitting that Bella then name the vibe Yoda, and the dialogue Edward uses in his Yoda voice is pretty much _exactly _what tds88 said in her comment. So, you can tick this one off your bucket list now, bb. You've named a vibrator and had it dedicated to you :-P**

**And don't forget to check out the Taste of the forbidden contest! There are a ton of hot stories (and one or two of them may be mine . . .but I'll never tell you which ones they are ;)). Seriously though, this contest has a bit of everything: Olderward, Godward, Prisonward, Priestward, Teacherward and so many more! Check it out, review every story you read (because the authors love it!) and vote for your favourites when the time comes!**

**My rec this week is a story I'm validating on Twilighted. It's a spooky little tale (with a companion piece). If you like the spooky stuff, then check it out! It's some creeptastic fun!**

**My (Imaginary) Best Friend **by** blood-and-chocolate**

**SUMMARY: **When Bella returned to Forks it wasn't only because her mother wanted to travel, but because her father was dying. She took care of him while she finished highschool, and fell madly in love with Edward Cullen. After her graduation, she was shortly married and returned home with child after her honeymoon, only to have one last night with her father. Bella was left with all her father had owned, including the deed to a boarding house in the town their family originated from, Eyphah, and decides to reopen it. Five years later the renovations are done, repairs made, and Bella's family has moved in. Little did she know, however, that the house held a dark past that wasn't quiet ready to let go, and neither are the past residents.

What happens when one of the unfriendly roommates bond with their young daughter?

**The companion piece is called _My (Corporeal) Best Friend_, and is just getting started. **

**Until next week (or the week after, but I hope to get back to weekly posting again)!**

**xoxo**


	23. Tis the Season

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

**Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all of you who are still with me and are leaving me wonderful reviews! I know I don't reply like I used to, and it's not that I don't want to, I just lack the time since I work so damn much and really want to get the next chapters out to you as soon as I can! I hope you all understand, and know that I appreciate each and every single one. I write not only for my own enjoyment, but for you guys as well!**

**To my betas: you guys kick ass. That is all.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 23. 'Tis the Season<strong>

The days leading up to Christmas have been jam-packed. Not only have I been busy with work and Bella with school and her part-time job, but we've had a lot of preparations to make before our time off together—oh, right; I made sure to book time off from work to spend Bella's Christmas break with her. It actually goes hand-in-hand with her gift.

The Tuesday following the dinner with our parents, I call Renee and Charlie to run my idea for Bella's gift by them, and they are beyond supportive. They even say that they will coordinate their gifts for her to go with mine as they're never really sure what to get her anyway; it couldn't have worked out better, actually.

On the Sunday before Christmas, I take Bella to the tree lot, and we pick out our very first Christmas tree. I can't believe how much fun we have wandering through the lot together, looking for the perfect tree, and surprisingly, it doesn't take us long to locate "the one." It's obvious we've found it when Bella's eyes widen and light up upon spotting the seven-foot-tall Douglas fir. Smiling, I tell the salesperson we'll take it and ask if we can have it delivered the following day. Bella is beyond elated. On the way home, we stop and pick up all sorts of Christmas decorations for the tree and house and set to work preparing for the holidays. Sure, I have some, but nowhere near enough if we are going to make the house as festive as possible for our first Christmas together—plus, I celebrated every year with my parents at their house before this, so I never really felt the need to go all out for the holidays until now.

While I work outside, stringing the lights from the eave of the house, Bella stays inside and rearranges the living room for when the tree gets dropped off, and then decorates the rest of the house. She decorates the mantle with green garland and sprigs of holly, while red and green candles adorn the mantle top. The threshold between the living room and the foyer is also dressed with garland and holly—and much to my pleasure, a spray of mistletoe right in the centre. There's a pretty good chance I'll take advantage of that at every opportunity—which I'm sure was my little vixen's intention when hanging it.

In addition to the living room, she adds a bit of holiday cheer to the kitchen, putting the holiday coloured candles in the centre of the table and strategically placing some holly between them as a makeshift centerpiece. She's also wrapped Christmas lights and garland around the banister in the foyer heading upstairs.

By the time the sun sets, the house is nearly done with the exception of the tree. I plan to stay home the next day while Bella's at school to set it up, and when she's done, we'll decorate it together. Naturally, it takes us longer to do this because we can't seem to keep our hands off each other—not that I would have it any other way.

Once the tree is set up and decorated, we curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and soak up the ambiance of the room. The colourful lights on the tree and the candles are the only source of light in the room as I sit with my back to the arm of the couch and Bella lying against my chest. The flicker of the flames cast a warm glow across the walls, and Bella's free hand moves up and down my jean-covered thigh, awakening my desire for her—which isn't really much work, to be honest.

This becomes our routine every night: we'll enjoy a wonderful dinner together, usually having cooked it together unless one of us is working late, and then we'll curl up on the couch with a bottle of wine and just talk about our day or watch a bit of TV. I've never felt more content in my life, and I never want to be without her. I never used to be much of a believer in fate, but after meeting Bella, I started to wonder if maybe I was wrong. It was rather fortuitous that she would be the one to answer my ad when she did, and I've never been happier since having met her.

I awaken Christmas morning when the sun beams through my balcony window and bathes the room in the bright morning light. Beside me, Bella remains asleep, snoring lightly as she lays nestled into my side. I love watching her sleep, so I decide not to wake her just yet in favour of spending a little more time with her in my arms; our families aren't expected here until eleven, so I figure I've got a bit of time before I'll be forced to wake her.

She continues to sleep soundly, her pouty pink lips parted slightly and whispers of breath escaping as she exhales. As my eyes continue to roam over her serene beauty, they wander down the length of her neck and over her collarbones before stopping at the white sheet tucked lightly beneath her arms. Beneath it, I already know she's naked, having fallen asleep after a long night of love-making. I smile, and my dick begins to harden as I remember how she rode me hard and fast, and the way her fingers curled into my chest until her nails bit into my skin, leaving light half-moon dents in my flesh that have long-since faded.

Sex with Bella has been unbelievable. While I'm no stranger to the wilder side of sex, introducing her to things she's never experienced has been just as liberating to me as it has been to her. In fact, she's been so open to trying new things that I'm certain it will only be a matter of time before she starts asking to try certain things without my mentioning it. I'd like to thank the party her mom threw a couple of weeks back for this; ever since that day, she seems to have really come into her own . . . not that she's given me any clues to the things she says she'd like to try one day. Not yet, anyway.

Looking over at the alarm clock, I see that the time has come to wake her up. I don't want to—I'd love to let her sleep all damn day—but our families are coming over, and, honestly, I'm really excited to spend Christmas with her and give her my gift. Having gotten to know her pretty well over the last couple months, I know that she's probably going to try and tell me it's too much, but it's not. It's—kind of—what she asked for . . . just a little more elaborate, I suppose.

Slowly, I begin to drag my fingers up and down her arm, drawing goosebumps to the surface of her skin and a shiver from her frame. Furrowing her brow, but not opening her eyes, she lets out an adorable little groan as she turns away from me and pushes her ass out toward me. Leaning forward, I kiss her shoulder and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her tight toward me. She groans, but I can tell she's still not quite with me yet.

"Baby," I whisper into her ear. She remains silent, her breathing still deep and even. "Sweetheart, it's time to wake up."

"Mmm," she groans, sounding somewhat displeased that I've interrupted her slumber, and rolls over.

"Hi," I greet her, kissing the tip of her nose and rubbing my hand back and forth over her stomach as she stretches beneath the sheets. "Merry Christmas, love."

"Merry Christmas to you," she replies, her voice still rough with sleep. Glancing over at the clock, Bella groans when she realizes how late in the morning it is. "So much for asking for an early present." Her bottom lip juts out into a pout, and I chuckle, shaking my head.

"What did you have in mind?" I inquire, even though I can see the answer in her eyes. When she turns to me and slips her hands beneath the sheets, I stop her—it's really fucking difficult, but I manage to succeed. "How about a shower together? If we don't get out of bed soon, then I'm afraid I won't want to leave all day . . . and with everybody set to arrive in a couple hours, that wouldn't be very hospitable of us."

Bella's disappointment disappears, and her lips curl up into a mischievous smile. "Can we fool around in there?"

"When have we not?" I reply, throwing the sheet off our naked bodies and ushering her out of bed and toward the bathroom quickly.

We've only got thirty minutes, but that's more than enough time for us to clean up and have a quickie—not necessarily in that order, mind you. Once we've both rinsed the soap from our bodies, we step out and wrap our towels around us before heading off to get dressed. There's still so much to do around the house, but first we have to prepare the turkey before putting it in the oven, as per _both_ of our mothers' orders.

When Bella emerges from her room in a pair of dark wash jeans that hug every inch of her lower body and a soft-looking, fitted red sweater—her feet remaining bare—I find it hard to focus on anything other than how her tits look. This could pose a problem if we're to stick to a strict schedule before everyone arrives.

"You look nice," she tells me with a smile, looking over my appearance. My outfit's nothing special, really, just a pair of faded jeans and a grey sweater, and my hair is probably just as unruly as ever.

"Thanks," I respond humbly, taking her hand and pulling her to me. "You look absolutely stunning." Bringing my hand up, I move a strand of hair behind her shoulder, letting the backs of my fingers trail down over the neckline of her shirt. "That colour against your skin . . . this neckline . . ." My eyes follow my finger to where it rests at the point of the V-neck, admiring the slight view of her cleavage—but only for a second, because if I allow my stare to linger, then we'll never get anything done.

When my gaze finds Bella's once more, she looks worried. "Is it too low? Should I change? I mean, our parents and my Gran will be here . . . I don't want to offend anyone."

Shaking my head, I try to offer her some reassurance. "It's perfect. You have nothing to worry about." I tilt my head forward and kiss her softly. "Come on. We should go start in the kitchen before everyone arrives."

While Bella works on prepping the turkey, I start scrambling some eggs and cooking a few strips of bacon for our breakfast. Since everyone will be arriving around noon, I figure we should eat something and then we could graze all afternoon on the Christmas goodies and whatnot that our mothers said they would bring.

Bella has the turkey in the oven just as I finish cooking breakfast—we really couldn't have timed things better if we'd tried—and we sit at the island like every morning and eat.

"So, are you going to give me a little hint about my present?" Bella inquires, stabbing at her eggs.

"Sorry," I tell her with a shrug. "It's a surprise."

She looks perplexed, but there's a flash of determination in her eyes, and I know she's not quite done fishing for clues. "I don't even understand how you found something for me . . . I mean, all I said I wanted was to sit around and relax over winter break, so how does that equate to a present?"

I ponder how to respond to this question before shrugging. "I guess you'll just have to wait until everyone gets here and see."

Just as soon as the words leave my mouth, the doorbell rings, and Bella's eyes light up with excitement. "Looks like I won't be waiting that long to find out!" she exclaims, leaning forward and kissing me chastely. After taking her plate to the sink, she heads to the door, and I stay behind to clean up breakfast.

When I hear them returning, I abandon the few dishes in the sink and dry my hands on the towel, ready to greet the first of our guests and make a proper introduction should it be Bella's parents and grandmother.

Truthfully, I had hoped to meet Bella's grandmother the other day when she picked her up from the airport. I arranged the town car and was going to have it swing by the office to pick me up after picking up Bella, but I got called in on a conference call at the last minute and had to back out. To make matters worse, I wound up working late that night and didn't even get the chance join them at the Swan residence for dinner. It was extremely disappointing, and I hoped that it didn't paint me in a bad light with her grandmother.

"Your father and I will just go put the gifts beneath the tree, sweetheart," Renee says, her voice fading as she wanders in the opposite direction.

"Sure, Mom. I'll show Gran the kitchen."

Within seconds, Bella walks into the kitchen with her grandmother by her side. I inhale and hold my breath for a moment, trying to calm my nerves. While I was nervous to meet Bella's parents, I find myself even more anxious about meeting her grandma. Perhaps it's because Bella has mentioned that she's a little more traditional, and our relationship is anything but "traditional."

They both look at me, Bella smiling wide while her grandmother regards me with mild curiosity. Looking at the two of them, it's easy to tell that they're related as they both share the same soulful eyes, and when her grandmother finally smiles, I see they share that as well.

"Hello," I greet them, stepping forward and holding out my hand. "I'm Edward Cullen. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Swan. Bella's told me so much about you."

Before addressing me, she looks over to Bella briefly, and then takes my hand. "And I've heard quite a bit about you, as well, Mr. Cullen."

"Edward, please," I interject. "Can I offer you something to drink, Mrs. Swan? Something to eat, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, dear. Renee served up a rather large breakfast this morning." She pauses a moment, her smile widening as she reaches out and squeezes my forearm gently—accepting. "And you can call me 'Gran.'"

With the ice broken between us, Bella's eyes brighten as she steps toward me, popping up on her toes and kissing my cheek. "See, I told you she'd like you," she whispers.

Before I can respond, the doorbell rings again, and I suggest we make our way to the living room to exchange gifts. Bella and her grandmother walk ahead of me while I stop at the door to let my parents in. When I open the door, I see my father is bearing an armload of gifts while my mother balances several dishes filled with various desserts.

As I usher them inside, I don't fail to notice that Bella and my names are on a couple of the gifts. "Mom, I told you not to worry about gifts," I chastise. "You've already done so much to help me out with Bella's."

Unfazed by this, she smiles and steps through the door. "I know, but that was technically your gift to Bella. We had to get her something, too. Don't worry," she continues with a devilish glint in her eyes, "we were sure to coordinate."

There's absolutely no use arguing with her, so I just shake my head and follow my father to the living room while she goes off to put the food she's brought away. My father greets everyone and puts the presents under the tree. Bella introduces him to her Gran, who warms to him immediately, and I stand in the doorway to the living room, watching the scene before me and feeling more than ever like my life has woven with Bella's seamlessly.

Mom passes by me, squeezing my arm on her way into the living room, but I choose to remain rooted here a moment longer and absorb our first Christmas together. Our parents and Bella's grandmother are seated on the oversized couch, and Bella has taken a spot on the floor in front of the empty chair next to the tree and is laughing at something her mother has just said. I continue to admire her when her eyes finally find mine and she pats the chair, beckoning me to her.

After taking my seat, I lean forward and kiss the top of her head. "Should we hand out presents?" I ask her quietly, and she nods emphatically, turning toward the tree and organizing everything to hand out. It's adorable to watch her eyebrows pull together in confusion as she stacks several large gifts with her name on them next to her spot on the floor, and I can only imagine that she's beyond curious about what each box holds.

As she hands everyone else's gifts out, I reach into my back pocket for the envelope containing her gift from me and slide it between the last two gifts so she won't open it first. There's a certain order to be followed, after all.

It pleases me to no end that Charlie is over the moon with his gift from Bella and me. When she came to me two weeks ago, frantic over the fact that she had no idea what to get her father, I only had to make one suggestion: Diamondbacks season tickets.

He looks up from his gift in disbelief. "This is . . ." He pauses, looking back down at the booklet and then back at us. "Thank you both. It's amazing—and entirely too much."

Smiling brightly, Bella shrugs. "Nah . . . Just promise you'll take me to a game."

Charlie looks at her in disbelief. "Really?"

She nods once. "Yeah. I had a great time at that football game, and I've recently decided to experience new things." Smirking, Bella glances briefly my way, and I grin. "Besides, it's so rare we spend any real father-daughter time together anymore. This would be perfect."

"You've got yourself a deal," he tells her excitedly, quickly showing Renee his present.

Renee goes next, opening the small box and finding a necklace Bella found for her nestled inside, as well as a gift card to a day spa. "Thanks, you two. This is absolutely perfect." Pausing, she regards Bella happily. "This necklace is stunning, honey."

"I saw it and just couldn't resist," Bella informs her mother. "It has yours, Dad's, and my birthstones in it."

Renee looks a little misty-eyed as she lifts the necklace from the box and asks for Charlie's help putting it on, all the while smiling at Bella. "It's exquisite."

Now, I may not have known Renee very long, but it feels as though she might be keeping some kind of secret. My suspicions are confirmed when Bella looks at her mother, both worry and confusion etched on her face. Before Bella has the opportunity to ask her mom what's going on, Renee smiles wide and hands a gift to her mother-in-law.

"Here, Mum," she says, still smiling. "This is from Bella and Edward."

Honestly, there isn't much of "me" in one of the gifts, as it was Bella who spent countless hours organizing and putting it together over the past couple of weeks, but I'll take partial credit for the ceramic pie dishes we had personalized.

Gran, as she asked me to call her, loves the pie dishes and assures Bella that she can't wait to use them, but when she pulls the scrapbook from the bottom of the box, her eyes light up and the biggest smile I've ever seen adorns her face.

"Oh, Bella," she gushes, flipping through the pages. "When did you find the time to do this?"

Bella shifts her weight to her knees. "Well, I've been working on it for the last year, but knowing I wanted to give it to you for Christmas, I really pushed myself to get it done these last two weeks." She pauses, her nervousness quite obvious. "Do you like it?"

I can't imagine she _doesn't _like it, as it holds so many memories of Bella, her parents, and both of her grandparents over the years. When Bella first showed me the finished book, I got my first real glimpse into her life before I met her. There are sweet images of Bella baking in the kitchen with Gran, her tiny, six-year-old body wearing a too-big apron and her face speckled with flour as she licks the wooden spoon in her hands. There are pictures of her playing on a swing set—at a park or in a backyard, I have no idea. Page after page, I watched her grow up, so when I look at the pure delight in her grandmother's eyes as she looks through this album, likely reliving every memory that each image brings, it brings a smile to my face, and I can't help but place my hands on Bella's shoulders and lean forward to kiss the top of her head.

With a sigh, Bella's right hand comes up to cover mine, and I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I think she likes it."

I chuckle into her hair. "I told you she would."

Next up are my parents, and my dad is pleased to see he's also scored Diamondback season tickets, which is what he gets every year—not that he minds getting the same thing every year. He and Charlie quickly make plans to attend a few games together; having suspected this might happen, I made sure to get their seats together—being a sports agent, I'm fortunate to have first pick on this sort of thing.

When Mom opens the remote car starter from Bella and me, she laughs and rolls her eyes. "Funny, Edward," she tells me.

"Just promise me you'll keep this car longer than a year and get some use out of it," I tease.

Naturally, no one really gets the inside joke, so when Renee asks, Mom willingly explains how she's got a habit of trading in her car within the first year of buying them—and usually only months after having her remote starter put in. "Thank you both," she quickly adds. "I'll be sure to make better use of this one."

I laugh. "That's all I ask."

Finally, it's Bella's turn. She's so excited, that I don't think she quite realizes that everyone is watching her raptly, awaiting her reaction to the gifts that will act as a prelude to what I got her. The first box she opens confuses her a little, but not enough to make her question it.

"These are lovely," she says, wrapping the dark grey knitted scarf around her neck and trying on the matching elbow-length mittens. "Thanks, Gran."

"You're welcome, dear. I was glad to have something to busy myself for the last several weeks."

Knowing they were hand-made makes them even more special for Bella. "Here's hoping Arizona experiences some kind of cold snap so I can make proper use out of them," she jokes. Upon hearing this, everybody in the room exchanges a glance and laughs along as she reaches for the next box from her parents.

Excitedly, she rips through the paper, lifts the top of the box off, and sets it aside. If she wasn't confused about the gloves and scarf before, the snow pants and winter jacket she's just pulled from the box surely does the job.

She sets the white pants down next to her and lifts the matching jacket with the fur-lined hood to inspect it. "Down-filled?" she inquires, reading the label before raising her eyes to her parents and then to me as I suppress a smirk. "Is Arizona expecting sub-zero temperatures sometime soon?"

"Always best to be prepared," Renee quips with a wink.

"Snow pants, Mom. You bought me snow pants." She pauses and runs her hand along the fur hood of her new jacket. "I've never even seen snow before."

Stunned, the smile falls from my face. "What? _Never?_"

She shakes her head. "Well, not _really_. I mean, there was that one time years ago where it snowed here, but it melted before it even hit the ground."

While this news shocks me, it also makes me incredibly happy . . . for reasons that Bella will find out about in a minute.

After her parents dismiss her questions about her gift, she reaches for the envelope on top of the last gift, but before she can open it, I snatch it from her with a smile. "This one is actually to be opened last, sweetheart."

Her right eyebrow arches questioningly. "Okay," she says, drawing the word out for a few extra seconds and reaching for the box from my parents; this one is actually a surprise to me, too, as I wasn't expecting my parents to get us anything other than what they did to help me out with what I got for Bella.

"Winter boots . . ." She nods once, almost resolutely as she pulls the warm-looking boots on her bare feet. "They're awesome, really . . . But this only further convinces me that you're all insane or expecting some kind of ice-age apocalypse."

I laugh and hand the envelope back to her, hoping it will help ease some of her confusion. "Here," I tell her. "This one's from me."

Her smile returns, and she shifts back up onto her knees without removing her new boots. Tearing the envelope open, she pulls out a folded piece of paper and the picture I've enclosed inside. Before opening the paper, she looks at the picture and then up at me. "A cabin?" Then she pauses, her eyes widening. "You bought me a cabin?" she asks incredulously.

Smiling, I shake my head. "No, I didn't buy you a cabin . . . which isn't to say I wouldn't have, to be honest . . . but this one is only on loan." I nod toward the folded paper in her hand. "Open it."

She does as asked, handing me the picture first, and then reads what's on the paper. "No," she breathes. "Edward, this is too much."

"You said you wanted a relaxing vacation," I remind her. "And what's more relaxing than a cabin in the mountains of Canada?" Her bewildered gaze wanders up until she's looking right at me. "Whistler is beautiful this time of year, and there's no better place to go skiing."

"Skiing?" She looks somewhat terrified. "But I've never . . ."

Before letting her finish, I wink. "New experiences, right?"

Her smile returns, only this time it's wide and full of excitement. "Thank you!" she exclaims, standing up to throw herself into my arms—and onto my lap, which has me struggling to keep my cock from responding; the little bastard is insatiable. "This is amazing." After hugging me, she pulls out of my embrace and turns to everyone else in the room. "So I guess the rest of the gifts make a lot more sense now. Thank you all so much."

"We just want you to have a good time," Renee tells her. "And be sure to take a lot of pictures."

Once she's promised her mom that she'll take her camera everywhere—which the sex-addicted part of me thinks isn't a bad idea at all—she hands me my first gift and kneels before me again. The look in her eyes is almost apologetic as she says, "In light of your gift to me, this seems . . . lame."

When I toss the paper aside to see what she's gotten me, "lame" is a far cry from what it is. I lift the titanium Michael Kors watch from its box and put it on my left wrist. "This is amazing, Bella."

"Yeah? You like it?"

"I love it," I assure her, leaning forward in my chair to kiss her softly—and innocently since our family is in the room. "Thank you."

I open the gift from my parents next and am pleased to find a gift card that I can use toward new boarding equipment. Originally, I had hoped to buy Bella some equipment of her own in addition to our trip, but then decided to wait and see if it was something she even enjoyed first . . . plus, there was no telling just how much actual time we'd get to spend on the slopes considering it was rare we even left the house unless we were working or Bella was going to school.

"Here," Bella says, handing me my last gift from her parents.

The box is large—about the size of the one they gave Bella—and when I open it, I realize why; they got me a new jacket, ski pants, and gloves. Before I get a chance to thank them, Renee speaks up.

"If you don't like them—or you have a set already—the gift receipt is in the bottom of the box there."

Shaking my head, I address her concern. "It's great, Renee, really. My current set is more than a couple of years old, so I was due for an upgrade. Thank you."

For the next hour, we sit around and talk. Bella asks about the trip, her excitement radiating off of her and affecting everyone else. She assures me that she's looking forward to going away with me, but she's also concerned that I spent far too much money. While the plane tickets weren't exactly cheap since this is peak season in Whistler, I assure her that they were the only major expense. She's confused, but only until I tell her that the cabin belongs to my parents, and that they loaned it to us for the week we'll be up north.

After our mothers and Gran decide to go to the kitchen to check on dinner, and our fathers follow after them to grab a beer from the fridge, Bella crawls onto my lap. My eyes roam over her body hungrily, and the hand that rests on her knee moves down her leg and tugs on one of her new boots playfully. "You like your presents, baby?" I ask, bringing my hand back up her leg until it rests snug between her thighs.

Sighing, she nods and her eyes flutter slightly as she clenches her thighs together, forcing my touch. "When do we leave?"

"The day after tomorrow," I reply, dropping my face to nuzzle her neck. She giggles when my nose brushes the ticklish spot just below her ear, and I chuckle.

"So I have all day tomorrow to pack and prepare?" I nod. "Good. There's something I need to go do tomorrow before we go."

Arching my eyebrow, I eye her inquisitively. "Which would be?"

The smile that spreads across her face can only be described as mischievous. "A surprise."

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><p><strong>AN2: There it is! What did you all think of Bella's present? Ski trip to Whistler, BC? YES PLEASE! And what do you think Bella's got up her sleeve for Edward before they leave?<strong>

**Please review! I've started on chapter 24 already, and it's a fun one . . . with a plane ride ;) Oh yeah . . .**

**In other news, voting for the Taste of the Forbidden contest has opened! Go to their blog and vote for your favourites! I've got two in there that you may have read, but the competition is pretty steep! Lots of hotness in that contest!**

**www . tasteoftheforbidden . blogspot . ca/**

**Until next time!**


	24. A Christmas Miracle

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**Thank you all so much for being patient as I get a regular posting schedule going again! It's very much appreciated! Ch25 is in the works, and I hope to have it up in the usual week! It'll be a doozy ;-)**

**I know I thank them in almost every chapter, but I think they deserve it as they really do go above and beyond to get these chapters back to me within a day or two! Even if RL is demanding, they always find time for li'l old me and this silly little story. So, to my betas, thanks for sticking this story out with me, and taking on anything new I come up with in between chapters! You ladies are the bomb, and I appreciate all the helpful advice and silly things we talk about from time-to-time. *hugs***

**Okay, let's see what's going on in Bella's head—because that shit's always funny ;)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 24. A Christmas Miracle<strong>

The look on Edward's face when I refuse to tell him what it is I have to do tomorrow before we go on our trip is priceless. Even though I am beyond excited about this vacation, having never been anywhere outside the US before—especially not in the winter—I still feel like he's gone a little overboard. The cabin in the picture was beautiful, and I can't wait to go away with him for the week. Sure, we're not really disturbed much here, but going on a trip with my boyfriend, far away from even the slightest possibility of any kind of intrusion, is definitely appealing.

"You're really not going to tell me?"

Shaking my head, I run my hand over his arm, lifting his sleeve and looking at the watch I bought him. "Sorry. Can't."

"I think you mean _won't_," he grumbles. Then, he leans forward and kisses my neck, his fingers curling into my inner thigh slightly. This makes my pulse race and my breath hitch, and he strokes the seam of my jeans. Tingles course through my body, settling between my legs, and I bite back a moan of desire. "Of course, I might have a few ways to extract information from you."

His teeth bite down gently, and I sigh, ready to tell him anything he needs to know. The sound of our fathers' voices returning from the kitchen draws my attention away from the way his hand feels wedged firmly between my thighs long enough to rise off his lap. Honestly, I'm glad they made themselves known, because I would have been horrified if they'd have found us like that. An innocent kiss—or even a not-so-innocent one—would have been a little easier to handle . . . but heavy petting? Yeah, pretty sure my dad wouldn't recover from that.

Suppressing my feelings of desire as much as I can, I place my hands on the armrests of Edward's chair, leaning over to kiss him softly. "I'm going to go see if I can lend a hand in the kitchen. You boys behave."

Kicking off my insanely warm new winter boots, I pad barefoot to the kitchen, where Mom, Gran, and Esme are busy working on a few things for dinner. I pass by Dad and Carlisle on my way, popping up on my toes to kiss my father's cheek, and continue on my way.

The closer I get to the kitchen, the stronger the inviting smell of the turkey is; I'm instantly transported back in time to happy memories of countless Thanksgivings and Christmases with my family. The holidays have always been my favourite time of year. There's just something about being together with my family, sitting around the table, our dinner plates full in front of us as we talk, laugh, and share stories of years past.

This Christmas is fast becoming my favourite of them all, having my family and Edward's all together under one roof. Sure, I was a little afraid that neither of our mothers would relinquish their hosting duties, and we'd be forced to split the holidays between houses. It was such a relief when they agreed, and it was an even bigger relief when Gran showed up this morning and accepted Edward right away—not that I should have been too surprised, I suppose; I talked about him enough the other day in the car as the driver took us to my parents' house.

Naturally, Gran asked all sorts of questions about my relationship. At first, she didn't seem too keen on the idea that we were living together already, but I was quick to explain that I was renting a room in his house before we even realized there was anything between us. The expression on her face was proof enough that this wasn't what she wanted to hear. She wasn't upset about it, but she was concerned because the situation had the potential to become complicated. I understood where she was coming from, but after talking to her about him a little more, she started to understand and told me that she only mentioned it because she wants what's best for me.

When I led her to the kitchen this morning, I could feel how uncertain she was about meeting Edward, but the minute he introduced himself, I could feel any apprehension in the room dissipate, and everything just kind of fell into place.

When I enter the kitchen, I find them fussing over different things; Esme is busy putting various kinds of tarts and squares on the festive platters Edward and I had left out this morning, Gran is skinning carrots and potatoes, and Mom is basting the turkey. They work together like a cohesive unit, and it only further cements this as my favourite Christmas so far; I'd like to think they'll only get better as the years go by—though, I suppose this one might be hard to top since I got a trip to the mountains and all . . .

The minute my mother notices me hanging out in the doorway she closes the oven and motions for me to join them. "Come on in, honey. Lend a hand."

Not wanting to step on any toes, I smile and shake my head. "No, that's okay. Edward and I said that you could carry on with your yearly traditions. I'm okay to just hang out."

"Don't be silly, Isabella," Gran admonishes as only Gran does—which is in a tone that should never be taken too seriously. "Get in here and make yourself useful."

I grab a paring knife from the knife block, stand next to Gran, and pick up a potato from the counter in front of her to peel. I've just made the first slice when Gran leans closer to me, speaking her next words in a low, hushed voice. "Besides, judging by the way that boy looks at you, you'll have to start building your own traditions."

My cheeks burn, and I can only imagine the shade of red they are as I laugh nervously. While I know how I feel about Edward—and I'm pretty sure he feels the same way—it seems like I'd be tempting fate to think that far into the future so soon. It's too late, though; Gran's playful comment has me imagining Edward and I sitting together on our couch as three smiling children tear open brightly wrapped gifts near the Christmas tree.

"What's got you grinning like a court jester?" Mom asks, bumping her hip against mine as she sidles up next to me.

Clearing my throat, I shake my head. "Nothing," I lie, my voice cracking slightly—a sure sign of my guilt. Thankfully, my mother doesn't press the issue, instead wrapping an arm around me and hugging me close.

"Thank you for suggesting we all celebrate together," Mom says, resting her head against mine as I continue peeling potatoes. "It's wonderful to have everyone here." When her voice quivers, my eyebrows pull together in concern, and I set the knife and potato down so I can focus on her.

"Mom?"

Quickly, she pulls her arm from around me and dabs at the inner corners of her eyes with the pads of her index fingers. "Sorry." She laughs. "The holidays always make me a little emotional."

While I know this to be true, I also know that she's never _this_ emotional. First, she got more than a little choked up when she opened the necklace I got her, and now, she's crying . . . I get the feeling that something deeper is going on, and my stomach knots when I begin to fear the worst: that maybe she's sick.

I need to know, but I know that now is probably not the time to ask, so I try to push it to the back of my mind. It's completely unsuccessful. When I almost cut my thumb for the fifth time, I throw in the towel and excuse myself. "I'm going to step outside for a minute," I tell them, heading for the patio doors.

Once outside, I walk toward the pool and stand along the edge, looking out toward the desert. It's a little chilly, and the cool breeze bites through my light sweater, so I wrap my arms around myself in an effort to warm up a bit. My mind races, trying to find some other explanation for my mother's odd behaviour, but I'm unable to think of anything that could be taken in a positive light—especially since her mother died of cancer ten years ago. That alone brings me right back to the absolute worst scenario possible.

My eyes begin to burn, and I blink back my tears, afraid of anyone seeing how upset I am. Logically, I know I shouldn't be this upset without confirming my fears, but I'm finding it hard to remain rational.

"Here you are." Edward's soft voice rolls over me, granting me a momentary reprieve from my distress. He drapes the jacket he keeps by the patio door over my shoulders and wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder and kissing my neck. "What are you doing out here, love?"

I think about telling him what's bothering me, but I don't want to sully his mood as well until I know for sure. So, instead of unloading my thoughts on him, I smile and turn in his arms. "Just . . . taking it all in," I tell him breathily, wrapping my arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest. When he doesn't say anything, I wonder if he suspects I'm keeping something from him. If he does, though, he doesn't allude to it; instead he presses his lips into the top of my head and runs his hands up and down my back, causing a current of heat to move within my body.

"It's a little cold out here," he whispers against the top of my head. "Why don't we go back inside?" I look up and him to find him smirking. "I'd hate for you to catch a cold before we go on our vacation."

Attempting my most genuine smile, I nod. "Yeah, that probably wouldn't be good."

Taking me by the hand, Edward leads me into the kitchen. I hang up his jacket and smile at our mothers and Gran as Edward continues to lead me through the house. Confused, because I should probably help out with dinner a little more, I look up at Edward. "Where are you taking me?"

Without answering, Edward turns down the hall before the foyer—out of sight from both the kitchen and the living room—and presses me against the wall. His hard body is hot against mine, and his lips find mine, firm and insistent. It doesn't take long before my troubles are mostly forgotten, and I pull his hips closer by his belt loops, my body softening in his arms. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip once, and just as I'm about to deepen our kiss, he pulls away, smiling.

"There you are," he whispers, kissing the tip of my nose lightly and pushing a loose strand of hair away from my face, the tips of his fingers ghosting down the side of my cheek. "What's bothering you?"

I knew it was silly to think he didn't pick up on my anxiousness; he's always been so perceptive of any sudden changes in my moods. "It's probably nothing," I tell him quietly, and when he doesn't say anything, I know he's waiting for me to continue. "It's just . . . my mom's been acting a little . . . _strange_." I take a deep breath, feeling my tears threaten again, but I hold them back. "She was more emotional than I thought she'd be when she saw the necklace, and just now in the kitchen, she thanked me for suggesting we all share Christmas together, and then cried."

Instead of feeding my fears, Edward smiles and runs his hands up and down my arms in an attempt to comfort me. "Sweetheart, I'm sure she's just happy to be here with everyone."

"I know," I tell him, letting his voice of reason stand in for mine. Dropping my eyes to his chest, I nod and repeat his words in my head a few times, letting them sink in until I believe them myself. "You're right. I'm probably being ridiculous . . . It just seems odd, is all."

"Well, there's no sense getting yourself upset until you find out, right?" he reasons, and I give him a little shrug in response. "And _if_ your mother has anything to tell you, she'll tell you when she's ready. You can't force it, love."

He's right, of course, so my head bobs in agreement once more. "Okay."

Taking me by the hand, Edward and I head back to the living room. Our fathers are talking about football as Edward takes his seat in the chair, and instead of letting me sit on the floor, he pulls me down onto his lap. Dad glances up at us, and I expect his gaze to be disapproving, but instead he smiles and returns to his conversation with Carlisle, allowing me to relax into Edward's embrace. His left hand rests on my thigh, and I catch a glance of his watch again, sitting a little loose around his wrist.

"We should take this in to get properly sized," I suggest, tugging at the loose links.

"Maybe I'll do that tomorrow while you're out doing . . . whatever it is you're doing." His tone is playfully pouty, making me giggle.

"Sure. I actually just have to go to the mall, so maybe we could ride together and split up for a bit before meeting for lunch," I suggest.

We've just secured our afternoon plans for tomorrow when our mothers and Gran return, taking their seats on the couch. The next few hours are filled with stories from my and Edward's childhoods—both adorable and embarrassing—with one of our mothers sneaking out every now and then to baste the turkey and check on the rest of the food. Esme brings out a platter of finger foods and desserts to graze on while we wait to eat, and they are absolutely delightful. Cucumber sandwiches, assorted fruits and vegetables, chocolate oatmeal cookies, Nanaimo bars, sugar cookies . . . It's hard to control myself, but I manage, knowing that soon we'll be sitting down to a big turkey dinner.

The timer for the oven can be heard throughout the house, forcing Mom and Esme to their feet. Turning, I kiss Edward softly. "I'm going to go and lend a hand in the kitchen."

I've barely made it out of the living room when my father speaks, stopping me dead in my tracks. "Edward, why don't you go and carve the turkey?" My head snaps toward the couch, and Dad looks up at me like I'm watching him grow two extra heads. "What?"

"But _you_ usually carve the turkey." I look to Carlisle, assuming that he is usually the one to carve the turkey in their home, too, and he only smiles.

"True," Dad says, pulling my attention back to him. "But this is your house, and maybe Edward wants to start his own traditions."

I look to Edward again, and the corners of his lips are slowly turning upward as he stands from his chair. "Sure."

Edward and I make our way to the kitchen, and just as we enter, Mom's placing the turkey onto the island counter. "Bella, honey, would you tell your father the turkey is ready to be carved?" she asks without looking up at me.

"Um, actually, Edward's going to carve it this year. Dad and Carlisle seem cool with it," I inform her. Now, I'm honestly not sure how I expected her to react, but glistening eyes wasn't it. Wanting him to understand why I've been thinking the way I have, I nudge Edward, and he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, come in, you two!" Esme exclaims. "Let's get dinner on the table before your fathers get grouchy."

While Edward carves and plates the turkey, I take my place beside him and begin mashing the potatoes, and Mom and Esme are at the stove working on the gravy and vegetables. When all is said and done, Edward and I extend the kitchen table so we can put the food on it while Mom goes to the living room to tell everyone else that dinner is served.

"Dinner smells amazing," Dad praises as they enter the kitchen and find their seats.

Nodding, Carlisle is quick to agree. "I'll say. You ladies outdid yourselves."

With everyone at the table dishing up, I grab the wine from the counter and bring it over to fill everyone's glasses. I start with Edward's and work my way clockwise around the table. After filling Dad's glass, I reach between him and Mom for hers, but before I can grab the stem, she holds her hand out and stops me.

"Oh, none for me, honey. Thank you," she says softly, glancing up at me.

While her turning down a glass of wine isn't exactly unheard of, I still find myself a little stunned; family dinners are the only time she really ever drinks . . .

"What?" I ask, momentarily thinking I misheard her. "Sorry, did you want white? We have white."

Something flashes in her eyes, and it takes me a second to recognize it as apprehension. She shakes her head, dropping her gaze from me, and turns back to the table. "No. No wine for me today, thank you."

My confusion grows, and I find myself frozen in place as I look around at everyone in the room; Dad's eyes are on his plate, his posture rigid and his hands placed flat on the table top, Esme and Carlisle look at me, their expressions telling me they don't know anything, Gran avoids my gaze also, and Edward's eyes are wide with what looks like realization.

Every thought that something might be wrong with her suddenly dissipates, and all the pieces come together in my mind like a jigsaw puzzle: her getting teary-eyed over my gift to her, her being emotional about us having everybody together for Christmas, and now her refusal to drink.

"Holy shit," I blurt out, not thinking clearly enough to harness the profanity in front of my parents or Gran. "You're pregnant."

Mom's silence is answer enough. Nobody else in the room says a word, instead choosing to look at anything but me as I absorb this news. While I'm without a doubt relieved that she doesn't have some terminal illness, the fact remains that my forty-four-year-old mother is pregnant. I may not be a doctor, but even I know that she's no longer in her prime child-bearing years, and that this pregnancy might very-well be more difficult than when she was in her twenties. But, on the flip side . . . I'm going to have a little brother or sister.

"Sweetheart?" Edward's voice breaks through to me, and I turn to look at him, my lips slowly twisting up into a smile.

"You're right," Mom confesses, pushing her chair away from the table. "We wanted to wait to tell you until you came back from your vacation and we'd had our first ultrasound done, but yes, Dr. Gerandy confirmed that we're expecting." Pausing, she gauges my reaction to hearing this. "Are you . . . okay?"

Nodding, I hand the wine bottle to Edward and pull my mom into my arms. "Of course! I mean, I'm still a little shocked, but if you're happy, then I'm happy."

Congratulations fill the room as I hug both of my parents. I feel silly thinking that anything was wrong with my mom, and I feel much more relaxed now that I know the truth behind her odd behaviour.

We all take our seats around the table and begin dishing up. Before eating, Dad picks up his wine glass and toasts our first Christmas together as a family. Once he sits back down, Mom leans over and kisses him, and it's the first time I'm not even a little repulsed by their PDA. In fact, it's comforting to see just how in love they are after all these years. It's something I never really thought about before, but I aspire for it in my own relationship with Edward. It's as though he can read my mind as I realize this, because his hand finds mine beneath the table and he squeezes it lightly, shooting me a brilliant smile when I bring my eyes to his.

After dinner, everyone lends a hand in the clean up, and once the kitchen is clean, they decide to call it a night. Edward and I walk them to the door and say goodnight, hugging each of them as they prepare to leave.

"You make sure you call me the minute your plane lands," Mom whispers into my ear as she hugs me tightly.

"Yes, Mom," I assure her. "Congratulations again, and you take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'll make sure of it, kiddo," Dad interjects.

After hugging Mom, I prepare to say goodbye to Gran. She pulls me into her tightest embrace, and I feel a little emotional; saying goodbye to her is always difficult given how close we've always been. "Thanks for being so awesome about everything, Gran," I tell her. "It was so good to see you again."

Esme and Carlisle step forward to say goodnight next, hugging both Edward and me, and wishing us a Merry Christmas and a safe trip to Whistler—I still can't believe I'm going, to be honest.

"Thanks again for everything," I say. "The use of your cabin, the amazing gifts . . ."

"Of course, dear," Esme replies. "You two have a good time, and we'll do dinner when you return."

"Sounds perfect, Mom," Edward tells her.

With everyone gone, Edward closes and locks the door before turning to me. "So . . . did you have a good Christmas?"

"The best." Sighing contentedly, I wrap my arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth.

He kisses the top of my head, and then turns us for the living room. "And your mom . . ." We reach the couch and he sits, pulling me down onto his lap, waiting for my reaction before he continues.

I smile. "I'm still a little shocked, but she seems happy."

"Are you?"

I think about his question for a minute before I decide to just be honest. "Yes and no." Cocking his head, he regards me with curiosity. "No, because she's forty-four, and she and Dad _just_ got their freedom back, so I worry that she's at risk for more complications given her age." Edward nods along in understanding. "But, at the same time, they've both said that they wanted more kids . . . it just never happened for them, so I'm excited that they've been given the chance." Slowly, my lips curl up into a smile. "Plus, I get a new baby brother or sister out of this, so that's pretty cool."

"Good," Edward says. "I'm glad you're okay with it, because I think they're pretty excited."

Then, out of nowhere, the day catches up with me, waves of exhaustion rolling over me and making me yawn. Edward chuckles into my hair as I cuddle up to his chest. "What do you say we head up to bed? I'm feeling pretty wiped out, too. Plus, we should rest up if we're going to brave the mall tomorrow."

Nodding slowly, I push myself up and stand. "Sounds good."

After changing into my PJs, Edward and I crawl into bed. His hand moving up and down my back lazily lulls me to sleep quickly, but before I'm completely out, I hear him whisper, "I love you, Bella."

"Mmm," I hum, pushing through the haze of exhaustion. "I love you, too."

**::: Rw/aV :::**

Edward and I are sure to be up and at the mall early so we don't have to fight the crowds. After giving him a quick kiss, we part ways, and I head off to a few different lingerie shops. The only thing I've ever purchased in them before has been bras and underwear. Up until recently, I've never really been interested in this sort of thing—I mean, what was the point if a) the man wasn't going to appreciate it (Jake), or b) it was just going to get taken off? But now? Well, now I want to look nice for Edward. I want to see the look on his face when I came into the room in a tiny, lacy outfit. I want his eyes to go wide, and his jaw to drop as I make my way across the room to him . . . Yes, that is exactly what I want.

I leave Frederick's of Hollywood $250 poorer, but I don't think twice about it since I've got quite a bit of money saved up anyway due to my kickass rental price. I've purchased a couple new bras—sexier ones—and matching panties as well as three pieces of lingerie in varying degrees of sexy.

Naturally, I bought a sheer white, much more innocent piece to use the first night—kind of as a way to test the waters—and then I bought another that's a little more risqué, all black lace and short with a matching thong and garter . . . I even bought some thigh-high stockings and am going to stop for a pair of sleek black heels to go with it; Edward is sure to lose his mind. Last in my bag of new sex-clothes, is a red and black corset that pushes my breasts up and together, making my cleavage look . . . well, it looks amazing. For someone with such small boobs, I never knew they could look that good. To go with the corset, I bought a sexy pair of lace panties . . . of course, there's something more to them than that—or, should I say _less_? In an act of pure impulse, brought on by Bad Bella on my left shoulder reminding me that trying new things was fun, I forewent the regular lace panties and snatched up a pair of the crotchless kind. Yup, I, Isabella Marie Swan, now own a pair of crotchless panties.

After stopping in a shoe store and grabbing a pair of the highest heels I've ever owned, I grab my phone and am about to call Edward to see if he's ready to meet for lunch. However, just as I'm about to hit _send_, I stop in my tracks and stare at the storefront sign before me for a minute. Excitement pounds through my veins, and Bad Bella appears again, telling me to do it because it'll be so worth it. The more I think about it, the more I realize she's right, so I gather up my courage and step inside.

If the crotchless panties don't make Edward lose his mind, you better fucking believe that this will.

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><p><strong>AN2: WHAAAAAAAAT?! NOT AGAIN!<strong>

**Yup, I totally cock-blocked you guys again! Sorry, but it had to be done ;)**

**What do you guys think of Renee and Charlie's news? I figured, with the amount that these two bone, it was pretty inevitable :P**

**I know I promised an airplane ride, but there was still a lot of Christmas left to get through. The next chapter is the beginning of their vacation, and we'll see what Bella has in store for Edward. Until then, you're open to leave guesses in your reviews.**


	25. The Mile High Club

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading this chapter is all yours.**

**^^^ This warning is valid for the upcoming chapter. I promise ^^^**

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><p><strong>Chapter 25. The Mile High Club<strong>

"You're going to freeze your ass off," Edward warns from his spot on my bed as I step out of my walk-in closet in a white long-sleeved sweater and a skirt. "I know you've never seen snow before, but you realize just how far north Canada is, right? Not to mention, we're going to the mountains."

I smile sweetly and saunter across my room to where he sits; I am fully aware that wearing a skirt probably isn't what most sane people would choose to wear, but I have a method to my madness—one that Edward isn't quite aware of . . . yet.

"I've got jeans in my carry-on, just in case," I assure him, pushing my way between his thighs and wrapping my arms around his neck. He welcomes me by placing his hands on my hips, his fingers curling into the denim of my skirt just above the swell of my ass.

Raising his eyes to mine, he smirks. "Just in case?" He laughs, slowly moving his hands down toward my thighs. The second the tips of his fingers touch the flesh of my leg just below my skirt, a shiver runs through me. While the most innocent touch from him always excites me, I'm definitely a bit more sensitive; it's probably due to the two of us not having sex in two days—not for lack of my wanting to or his trying, I just . . . didn't want to spoil my latest surprise before our vacation started.

"God, you smell fantastic," Edward groans, hooking his fingers beneath the hem of my skirt and lifting it slowly. He presses his lips to the column of my neck, and I sigh when his thumbs press against my thighs and move in . . . and up—

I snap out of my lust-induced haze when he grazes my panties, and I place my hands firmly on his shoulders and take a very difficult step away. Naturally, he is undeterred and removes his hands from beneath my skirt, grabbing my hips and pulling me back to him quickly with a low, disapproving growl.

"I wasn't quite done," he tells me gruffly, lifting the hem of my shirt and trailing his fingers along the waist of my skirt until he reaches the button. Slowly, he begins to release it, his warm breath wafting over the skin of my stomach and causing goosebumps. He chuckles once and frees the button. "I love watching your body react to my every touch . . ." he cements his point by flattening his hand over my abdomen and moving it up under my shirt to my right breast ". . . my every kiss . . ." my eyes fall closed the moment he presses his lips to my now-exposed hipbone and then licks the skin ". . . my every breath." When he blows on the newly-wet surface, a fresh wave of goosebumps flourishes across my skin, and I momentarily forget that a big part of my plan is for _me_ to be driving _him_ wild with desire. He's turning the tables on me, and I can't have that.

Even though I would give anything to let him continue on like this, I open my eyes and look down at him. Grabbing his wrists, I stop him from taking this any further because I want to reveal his big surprise once we're officially on vacation.

"That's the second time you've stopped me from making love to you, Isabella," he admonishes playfully, his tone low and dripping with desire. I've never heard him call me by my given name before, and it surprises me when the pulse between my legs intensifies. "You realize we haven't had sex since Christmas morning in the shower, right?"

"I do." Smiling, I release one of his wrists and run my fingers through his hair. "But if I let you continue, then we're going to be late getting to the airport, and you don't want to miss our flight, do you?" Even I know he can't argue with reason.

Smirking, he tugs me toward him again by the open waist of my skirt. "I'll be quick."

With a loud laugh, I fall onto his lap, and he begins kissing my neck again—probably because he knows how it renders me completely powerless against him. "As romantic as that sounds," I tell him softly, "I'd really rather wait until our vacation begins." Pausing, I bite my lip and shrug. "I've kind of got this whole thing planned . . ."

"And I'll get the surprise you promised me?" he inquires, lifting his head and arching his eyebrow.

"Definitely."

Appeased for the time being, Edward lets me get up and finish packing my things. After we double-check our bags to make sure we haven't forgotten anything, we head out to the town car that's just arrived. Edward's regular driver opens the door for me and takes our bags to the trunk while we climb in. Once our luggage is put away, the driver climbs in and pulls away from the curb.

Knowing that this marks the beginning of our first time away together, my excitement skyrockets. Beside me, Edward throws an arm over my shoulder and pulls me close, kissing my temple. "I'm looking forward to this holiday with you," he whispers.

"Me too," I tell him, relaxing into his embrace. "There's so much I'm looking forward to."

Using his other hand, Edward grabs my legs and swings them over his thighs, turning my body toward his. "Like?"

His fingers trail up and down my outer thigh, making me shiver and lose focus momentarily. "Being alone, for starters," I quip quietly, nodding my head in the driver's direction.

Edward chuckles, leaning us forward a bit to push a button on the roof console. A privacy screen rises from behind the driver's seat, and I shake my head in mock-disapproval. "What else?" he asks, slipping his hand up under my skirt and palming my ass.

"Seeing the mountains," I reply breathily as his hand continues to knead my ass cheek. I bite back a moan when his long fingers graze my inner thigh and try to keep myself from not fucking him in the backseat of the town car; somehow having his driver as an audience doesn't really appeal to me. "And skiing. Absolutely everything about this trip is going to be great."

For the rest of the ride to the airport, Edward and I canoodle in the backseat. We don't get any farther than a little over-the-clothes groping, which can only bode well for what I hope to happen soon enough, and when we arrive at the airport, Edward quickly adjusts himself before we step out and collect our bags from the driver. Inside, we collect our tickets and check our suitcases before heading to security.

The entire time we wait to go through the metal detectors, I'm worried about those random searches where they pull you into a private room. I know it's just a precaution, but I still don't want it to happen to me.

"Next!"

I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize I'm being called forward through the metal detector . . . and in the opposite direction of that private room. I remove my shoes and put them in the bin with my carry-on before stepping through. Silence is heard as I make it to the other side, and I collect my things as Edward is called next. With both of us clear, we head for our gate, grabbing a coffee along the way. By the time we arrive at the gate our plane will be taxiing in to, we've still got a thirty-minute wait. I'm growing terribly anxious, but only because I'm just so excited.

"How long is the flight? I ask, sipping my coffee.

"Three hours."

I nod once. "That's pretty good. What are we doing when we get there?"

"Well, we'll rent a car and then drive to the cabin to unload our luggage. After that . . . well, we can go skiing, check out downtown Whistler . . . whatever you want, love."

Smirking, I turn to him. "Anything?"

He leans forward and brushes his nose over mine, his lips barely touching down on mine. "Absolutely anything."

"Good," I whisper. "Because I have big plans for this week."

Even though we're in the middle of the airport, Edward closes the gap between us and presses his lips to mine. It's definitely not the most passionate kiss we've ever shared, but it's enough to get my libido going.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I groan, ending the kiss. "Sorry," I grumble, reaching for it and looking at the screen and smiling again before answering. "Hey, Mom."

"Hi, sweetheart. I just wanted to call and wish you both a safe flight."

"Thanks. I'll be sure to call you when we get there, okay?"

"I'd appreciate that."

I can hear the worry in her voice, and I have to remind myself that it's not just her hormones from the pregnancy, but the first time I've been so far from home without either of my parents. Up until recently, I was their only child, so it would only be normal that she'd be a little uneasy.

"Do me a favour while we're gone, though?" I implore.

"Sure."

"Take it easy, and try not to worry too much?" She laughs lightly, probably in an attempt to throw me off. "Seriously, Mom. Take care of yourself and that baby."

There's a brief pause between us as I wait for her response, but she finally speaks up. "Okay," she says. "I promise."

"Thanks." Suddenly, there's an announcement coming over the intercom for pre-boarding passengers. "Our plane's about to board now, Mom, so I'll talk to you in a few hours, okay? I love you. Tell Dad the same?"

"Of course. I love you, too, honey."

After hanging up, Edward and I start to grab our belongings and head for the gate while the few pre-boarders disappear behind the doors past the attendants. My anticipation mounts with every step we take, and I'm practically vibrating when I hand my ticket to the woman attendant.

Edward and I find our seats easily, and he's kind enough to take my carry-on and put it in the overhead compartment for me. I stand back and wait for him to slide in next to the window, but he shakes his head. "Actually," he begins, "you can take the window. I tend to get slight vertigo if I catch a glimpse at how high we are."

Learning this about him shocks me. "Really?"

He runs his fingers through his hair, his expression adorably nervous. "Yeah. It's ridiculous considering how much I fly every year. I only booked the window seat because I figured you might enjoy the view of the mountains if we fly over them."

"That's so sweet," I assure him, popping up on my toes and kissing him lightly. "Thank you."

We take our seats and fasten our seatbelts as we wait for everyone else to get situated. Out of respect for Edward, I close the window for now, and he smiles in response before kissing my temple and placing his hand on my thigh, just below the hemline of my skirt. His thumb moves back and forth over the skin above my knee, and I loop my arm through his and rest my head on his shoulder. His scent envelops me, and I sigh in contentment.

Soon enough, after everyone has found their seats and the flight attendants have delivered their safety spiel, the plane pulls away from the gate and taxis down the runway. As we ascend, I think quietly to myself, and I realize that, while I thought I loved Jake, I was never truly content with him the way I am with Edward. Jake and I had good times, don't get me wrong—this observation isn't based on our final weeks, mind you—but even with all the good in our relationship, nothing ever felt like it was _right_. I never once envisioned a future with him. I didn't imagine what it would be like to live together, to get engaged and married—to have _kids_—and while I haven't really thought about Edward and I getting married—until now, anyway—I have thought about a future with him.

"You're awfully quiet, sweetheart," Edward murmurs against the top of my head. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Keep your money," I quip, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. "I was just taking a trip down memory lane, realizing for the first time that I've never been this happy before." I pause as he presses his lips to my forehead. "I used to complain for the longest time that my parents were more than a little inappropriate, but, now that _I'm_ happy, I see now just how in love they still are—and that's rare to find nowadays. I want us to have what they have."

Edward freezes, his eyebrows shooting up so high they almost disappear behind the pieces of hair falling on his forehead. "A baby?"

I laugh, unable to control the volume. "No," I assure him, and then I shrug a little. "At least . . . not any time soon." This doesn't seem to cause him further panic, so I relax. "I want to be as happy as I am right now, but twenty years from now . . . and longer."

He still seems a little stunned . . . but not afraid. No, definitely not afraid. "Y-you think about that kind of thing? With me?"

Now it's my turn to be both a little freaked out and stunned, and when I speak, it comes out a strangled whisper. "You don't?"

Immediately, his features soften, and he turns in his seat as much as possible. "Oh, no, I _do_, I just didn't think you did because . . . well, you're so young. While I'd hoped you would—" He stops himself, shaking his head. "It's just, I wasn't sure you wanted . . . _shit_. No, that's not right, either." I smirk, trying really hard to suppress it from becoming a huge smile; it's kind of nice to see him flustered for a change, but I don't let him suffer too long before I rescue him.

"Well, I think about it . . . actually, I've _been_ thinking about it a lot more since Christmas, if I'm being entirely honest. I may be young, but I know what I want, and I want you. Always."

His eyes reflect his happiness as well as his desire, and he leans in, pressing our foreheads together. "You just had to say all of this on the airplane, didn't you? I can't even begin to tell you what hearing all of that is doing to me."

Smiling, I decide that now is as good a time as any to officially start our vacation. "I know this is only slightly off topic," I begin quietly, "but was wondering if you could help me out with something." Edward regards me with quiet curiosity, and I continue. "I've been looking to acquire a membership into a very exclusive club."

"You're pledging a sorority?" he asks, clearly not picking up on my suggestive undertones. "I don't understand how I'm going to be able to help you with that."

Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, I unbuckle my seatbelt—now that it's safe, of course—and lean closer, letting my lips brush his. "Not that kind of club." His eyes widen with realization, and I smile triumphantly. "You interested?"

He looks around the cabin of the plane; it's not overly crowded, but it is over half-full. "I don't know . . ."

"Wait a minute." I pause and watch as he turns back to look at me. "Are you telling me you've never . . .?"

"It's an airplane, Bella," he says as if that's reason enough to not have sex on it.

"Yeah, and?" I counter, feeling pretty satisfied in myself for suggesting something even _he's_ never done. Suddenly empowered, I stand up and begin to exit our row, facing him and putting his face directly in line with my lower half. "New experiences, remember?"

Before heading to the washroom, I lean down and kiss his cheek, lingering long enough to whisper in his ear. "I'll wait five minutes. If you don't show up, that's fine . . . we can wait until we're in Whistler. I just thought this could be fun."

I head to the washroom and close the door before checking my watch. My heart pounds as I attempt to pace around the tiny space, and the longer I wait—even though it's only been less than a minute, I begin to wonder if I should abort this before Edward has a chance to decide. It's pretty risky, after all, and as I take a look around, I can tell that this will probably be pretty diff—

A light knock on the door jars me from my apprehension, and before I can open it a crack to see who it is, the door quickly opens and Edward joins me in the tight space. The look in his eyes is absolutely wild with desire, and he doesn't allow me the opportunity to say anything before he flips the lock on the door and pulls me into his arms, crushing his lips to mine as he backs me against the countertop.

Any thoughts I previously had about this maybe being one of my worst ideas immediately dissipates when he palms my ass and lifts me onto the counter. My hands work furiously to unbutton his shirt as his tongue sweeps over my lower lip, and I moan softly, pushing the shirt down his shoulders a little because I know that we don't have the luxury—or the time—to get completely naked here. I let my hands roam freely over his muscular chest before moving down to his belt, and as I undo it and his jeans, he slides his hands up my thighs and grips the thin sides of my thong. Slowly, he slides it as far down as he can before he has to take a step back to remove them entirely, and I open my eyes just in time to see him slip the scrap of fabric into his pocket.

He smirks devilishly. "Figured I needed some kind of souvenir to mark our initiation."

"Smart man," I tell him, reaching out and grabbing his open belt. "Now get back here."

Not wasting another minute, Edward steps forward, and my legs part, forcing my skirt a few inches up my thighs. I can feel the bulge of his erection behind his jeans when he presses flush against me, and I work quickly to undo his pants.

Warmth rolls over me as his strong hands move up the outside of my thighs, and I release a soft moan when he curls his fingers and drags his nails back down them lightly. I'm just about to beg him to fuck me when, out of nowhere, the plane rocks. My hands fly out to support myself against either wall, while Edward's hands clamp down on my legs. Thankfully, it passes soon enough, and we quickly resume our heated make-out session.

He struggles a minute to push my skirt a little farther up, so I lift myself up to assist him, and his hands take the opportunity to roam over my ass, freezing the instant he grazes the naked flesh between my legs. I hold my breath and wait for his reaction; I had been so caught up in the sensation of his hands on mine—and just how delightfully _bad_ we're being—that I forgot about my last minute decision at the mall yesterday. He drops his eyes and takes a very small step away, his back hitting the wall as his right hand moves up over my thigh and between my legs to explore the newly bare flesh there.

"What did you _do_?"

Based on his question alone, I suddenly find myself a little nervous that he doesn't like it, but as his hand continues to move back and forth, his fingers slipping between my folds and gliding with ease over my sensitive flesh, I'm reassured. "Do you like it?" I ask him, breathing heavily as he eases his fingers into me with a guttural groan and lowers his lips to my neck. I throw my arms around his shoulders, holding him in place, and rock my hips against his hand. "I'll take that as a yes."

His free hand comes up and lifts my shirt, tugging the cup of my bra aside so he can palm my breast. "Edward," I gasp when he curls his fingers inside of me and finds that hidden bundle of nerves that pushes me closer to the edge of release. Needing more, I slip my hands between us again and push his pants down over his ass, carefully working them over his erection. Understanding, Edward raises his head from my neck and removes his fingers from between my thighs, pulling me to the very edge of the counter and lifting my right leg until my foot is flat against the wall behind him. Once I'm positioned, he removes his hand from my sweater and pushes me back until my shoulders rest against the mirror behind me. Then he grips my hips firmly before slowly entering me as I bite back a groan, trying not to alert the flight attendants of our indiscretion.

"Jesus, Bella, you're so fucking beautiful," he tells me, his eyes trained on the site of his cock disappearing inside of me.

Curious, I shift my weight and look down, wanting to see what he sees, and when I do, I cannot bring myself to look away. Watching him thrust in and out of me is the most erotic thing I've ever seen in my life, and I can feel my entire body tense in preparation of my climax.

"I'm . . . not . . ." Edward growls between thrusts. "_Fuck!_ I'm not going to last much longer."

A deep tingle begins to emanate throughout my entire body, and I fall back to the mirror, unable to hold myself upright anymore as I creep closer and closer to pure bliss. Edward's right hand leaves my hip, moving up to grope my tit roughly before moving down my arm until he ensnares my wrist and lifts it above my head, holding it against the mirror. Then, his other hand leaves my body, going straight for my other wrist, and he guides it between us.

"Touch yourself, love," he commands, his hips moving a little less rhythmically.

Nodding, I let my index and middle fingers glide over my swollen clit; it's so sensitive that I have to bite my lip hard to keep from crying out. I watch Edward's face as I pleasure myself, and he is focused raptly on our joining bodies, picking up the pace and racing toward his orgasm. His grunts and groans fill the small space, and I'm sure we can be heard, but I don't really give a shit as my fingers press harder and swirl faster over my tender flesh. Occasionally, they'll graze his dick as he pulls out, and he's quick to slam back into me over and over again until his eyebrows pull together, his jaw clenches, and his hold on my wrist tightens as his hips stutter and jerk against me. It takes me a couple more passes over my clit before I'm coming, too, every muscle in my body contracting around him.

Smiling lazily, Edward peppers kisses across my sternum before pressing them firmly against my lips. "Fuck that was hot," he growls, biting my lip. "Best fucking club I've ever been a part of."

Quicker than I should be, I decide to play with his choice of words a little. "Been a part of many _fucking_ clubs, Mr. Cullen?"

He chuckles, pushing himself up and releasing my wrist from above my head so we can right our clothes. "Behave yourself."

Smiling mischievously as I tuck my breasts back into my bra and pull my shirt down, I shrug. "Little late for that, don't you think?"

He laughs quietly, helping me down from the counter and pushing my skirt back down my thighs. He quickly washes his hands while I clean myself up, and then I do the same. He listens at door for a minute before opening it a crack and slipping out. I immediately lock the door to keep anyone else from coming in while I wait a few minutes before emerging as well. When I feel enough time has sufficiently passed, I open the door and head back to my seat. I try to ignore the way the flight attendant stares at me, but I just know she knows what we were up to. I begin to panic, my heart racing and my breathing speeding up. I pass by her, and she doesn't say anything, so I breathe a sigh of relief and find Edward in his seat.

As I pass in front of him, it doesn't escape my notice that his eyes linger in the general area of my zipper, and I can only imagine he's thinking about what I'm _not_ wearing underneath.

Once I'm securely buckled next to him, I lean in. "Am I going to get them back?" I whisper, and he laughs.

"I told you they're a souvenir of my initiation."

"And where's mine?" I demand playfully.

He only smirks, leaning forward and grabbing the magazine from the seat back in front of him. "You check your neck?"

My eyes fly open, and I reach for my phone, turning camera on and flipping the view so I can see myself. When I do, I see the lovely quarter-sized hickey he left on me. "What are you, fifteen?" I ask with a laugh, trying to tug the low neckline of my shirt up to cover it. "Who does that?"

"Men who are in the moment and trying not to alert the staff that they're getting lucky in the bathroom."

I think about this for a moment and decide his reasoning is solid. "Fair enough."

Two hours later, the announcement is made that we're flying over the mountains, and that our expected arrival in Vancouver will be within the hour. Edward tells me to open the window, and when I do, I see the most breathtaking view of snow-capped mountaintops and the greenest trees I've ever seen.

"Wow," I breathe, fogging up the window. I watch for as long as possible, and when the view passes, I close the shade and relax back into my seat and anticipate our descent into British Columbia.

As promised, the plane is touching down on the tarmac within the hour, and we're making our way toward our gate. When the seatbelt light turns off, a steady _click_ can be heard as everyone unfastens them and begins to gather their things. Edward grabs our carry-on bags from the overhead compartment and we make our way for the front of the plane. As everyone before us exits, the attendants wish them a pleasant stay in Vancouver—or wherever their final destination may be—but when we reach them, they both smirk knowingly.

"On behalf of the airline, we hope that the two of you enjoyed your flight." My cheeks blaze hot, and I force a smile to my face, nodding nervously. "Enjoy your stay in BC. Stay warm, you two."

The instant we're off the plane, Edward and I burst into a fit of laughter and make our way to collect our luggage. If the rest of our vacation promises to be as great as the three-hour flight was, then I am more than ready for it to officially begin.

Plus . . . I still have a few special surprises up my sleeve for Edward.

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><p><strong>AN2: Well, there it is. Edward and Bella have been initiated into the Mile High Club. Think I did it justice? Let me know in a review…<strong>

**I'm currently working on a short one-shot for the countdown to Halloween thing I was contacted about. I'm pretty excited about it, and I hope you all enjoy it when it's posted! I may not be able to update RwaV next week, but I'm going to try my hardest! It won't be a long wait as this one-shot is coming along pretty quickly, I just wanted to throw it out there _juuuuust_ in case ;)**

**Until next time, lovelies!**

**xoxo**


	26. Keeping me on my Toes

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading any part of this fic is all yours.**

**Sorry for the delay again! I had a Countdown to Halloween one-shot that had a deadline of September 25, and I kind of forgot about it until the 20th… WHOOPS! It's done now, though, and will be posting sometime in October on the countdown site and FFn profile—and I'll post it here on October 31, as per the countdown's rules! I'll link you all at the end of the chapter!**

**I'd also like to note that I got some of the flight info wrong. It's been years since I've been to Whistler (like, over twenty), and since I live in Alberta, we only ever drove . . . For some reason, I didn't realize that the closest international airport is the one in Vancouver. There wasn't much to change, but I amended the last chapter to reflect this, and there will be brief mention about them being in Vancouver in this chapter also.**

**Anyway . . . I know what you all really want is a little EPOV of what he thought about his initiation, right? Yeah, I kind of thought so ;)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 26. Keeping me on my Toes<strong>

Surprised. This is the only word I can come up with after what just transpired back on that plane. It's not often that much takes me by surprise, to be honest, but Bella propositioning me for sex on the plane did exactly that. I knew it was only a matter of time before she started making suggestions like this—okay, so maybe not _exactly _like this.

I hesitated at first—not because I didn't want to, because, let's be honest, I pretty much jump at every opportunity to have sex with Bella—I am a guy, after all—the hesitation was, in large part, due to my vertigo. I may have led Bella to believe that it's not as extreme as it is, but the truth of the matter is, I don't like flying. Not only is it unsettling and slightly dizzying being so high up, but turbulence freaks the hell out of me. Every time the plane shakes or rocks through a patch of rough weather or air currents, I panic; every muscle in my body tenses up, and I grip onto the arms of my seat, waiting for the masks to fall from the roof of the cabin. Yes, I realize how rare a plane crash is, but that doesn't assuage my fear at all.

"_New experiences, remember?"_ Her voice echoed in my mind as I watched her slip into the small airplane washroom. I tried to justify to myself that getting caught wouldn't be worth it since my job requires me to fly all the time, and I can't be flagged as _that guy_. Naturally, my brain was quickly out-voted by my dick, and I flew out of my seat and into that bathroom.

No words were spoken between us after I locked the door and pulled her into my arms, and everything escalated rather quickly. Of course, I would serve to be reminded of where we were when we hit a patch of rough air, and the plane began to shake. Bella steadied herself by placing her hands on either wall, and I instinctively grabbed onto her, my fingertips digging into the smooth flesh of her thighs.

Thankfully, the turbulence was over just as quickly as it had begun, and, with a light laugh that helped to reassure me of our safety, Bella pulled me back to her and we resumed.

Now, technically we shouldn't have had sex in that washroom . . . not just because getting caught could have us red-flagged and banned from ever flying with this airline again, but also because it _physically _shouldn't have worked; those things are beyond cramped for space. I was bound and determined, though, and Bella was more than compliant when I lifted her leg and placed her foot flat against the wall behind me, pushing her back until she rested against the mirror. This angle provided me with the perfect view of my cock moving in and out of her pussy . . . her fucking _bare_ pussy.

To say I was shocked upon seeing her little surprise for me would be a vast understatement. It was obvious that my shocked silence worried her, and since my brain was no longer firing on all cylinders—making telling her damn-near impossible—I decided to show her just how fucking much I liked it instead. I couldn't take my eyes off the sight of me fucking her. Watching the way I slid in and out of her with ease—my cock disappearing and reappearing with every thrust—had me barely hanging on to my orgasm. I could feel the muscles in my body beginning to tense and the burgeoning wave of my release hovering over me, but I knew she wasn't quite there, and I refused to be selfish if I could help it. It was when I commanded her to touch herself that I finally let go.

Having sex on that plane was . . . well, it was one of the single most incredible experiences of my life, and, while I know just how fucking cheesy this sounds, I'm glad I got to experience this first with Bella—and I'm sure she's just as thrilled knowing she was able to share it with me.

I shouldn't have been surprised to find that the flight attendants suspected what we were up to, but I was. Even though they didn't seem to care much, I worried that Bella would be embarrassed, and that maybe she'd revert back to her more timid former self. Suffice it to say, even though she was a little red-cheeked when the crew alluded to what they knew, her laughter assured me that she wasn't entirely uncomfortable by the situation.

"So, what are we going to do first?" Bella asks as we walk toward the luggage carousel, gently pulling me from the pleasurable memories.

"Well," I reply, glancing to my right and outside at the rain-spattered ground of the Vancouver International Airport. "I'm going to suggest you go change out of that skirt while I wait for our bags. I won't have you catching a cold on our vacation."

"Always so bossy," she teases, taking her carry-on bag from off my shoulder and kissing my cheek. "I'll be right out."

While Bella is gone, I wait at the carousel for our bags. It takes about ten minutes before the conveyor belt even begins to move, and by the time I spot our bags, Bella has joined me, wearing a much more sensible-to-Canada pair of jeans.

Once I have retrieved our luggage, I am about to lead Bella toward the car rental booth, when she stops me. "Sorry, I just want to grab my jacket and my boots form my suitcase."

Nodding, I lead us toward a set of benches and lay her bag across two seats. "Of course, sweetheart."

After retrieving her things, Bella sits next to her bag and slips her shoes inside. While she pulls her boots on and picks up her jacket, I zip the suitcase back up, and we make our way toward the car rental booth again. After securing our vehicle—a silver 2012 Volvo XC90, complete with all-wheel-drive—we head outside to load our luggage into it and head for Whistler.

Bella stops at the edge of the sidewalk, looking a little put out about something, but before I can ask, she glances around and says, "I thought you said there'd be snow."

Laughing, I urge her forward. "There will be when we get to Whistler," I explain, dodging a few puddles in the rental lot. "It rarely snows in Vancouver, actually. Don't worry. There'll be more than enough as we drive farther east."

As we get closer to our rental, a cold wind picks up, and Bella grips my arm a little tighter, sidling right up against me and keeping pace. "Okay!" she exclaims, "even though there's no snow, it's still unbelievably cold. I'm glad you suggested I change."

Laughing, I unlock the SUV and open the back hatch for our luggage. "I wasn't joking," I assure her playfully, taking her bags from her and putting them inside. "Though, if you find Vancouver cold, I'm a little afraid to take you to Whistler." Bella laughs as I put my bag next to hers. "But don't worry, the car should warm up soon, and we'll be at the cabin before you know it." I pause for a minute, trying to think of what we should do tonight since the temperature will drop even more. "Actually, it's probably going to be quite a bit colder this evening, so we can just light a fire and stay in tonight . . . if you'd prefer."

Looking somewhat intrigued, Bella arches an eyebrow. "As opposed to . . .?"

I shrug, closing the back of the vehicle and ushering her toward her door to open it. "I hadn't really made plans for tonight," I confess. "I figured we'd play it by ear."

Smiling, Bella slides into her seat and rubs her hands together for warmth. "Staying in and lighting a fire sounds wonderfully warm."

The leather seats are still a touch cold, so I turn on the heated seats and put the vehicle into drive. Once we pull out of the airport parking lot, Bella starts laughing again, and I turn to see what's so funny.

"It's stupid," she tries to tell me, waving my inquiry off. When I refuse to let it go, she shakes her head. "I've never . . . um, _experienced_ heated leather seats before," she confesses, her cheeks turning just a shade pinker than the chilly winter air has made them. "It's . . . a strange feeling."

Her candid confessions never fail to amuse me, and soon we're both laughing as we drive away from the airport and hit the highway for Whistler. Bella asks questions about the cabin and the resort we'll be skiing at, and then inquires about anything else we might do. While I don't have a detailed itinerary planned out, I have a vague idea of a few things I'd like for us to do while in BC. Aside from skiing and cozying up by the fire with a good bottle of wine, I'd like to take Bella out. Not just for dinner, but to a bar. She may not be of legal drinking age back home, but here she is. I have no idea if this is even something she might care to do, but I'll be sure to bring it up once we arrive in town.

With Vancouver almost an hour behind us, we've traded in the gloomy, rain-filled clouds behind in favour of clearer skies, a little sun, and heaps of snow on the sides of the road. Bella appears to be in awe as she stares out the window at the passing Canadian scenery. It's still a little shocking to me that she's never seen snow up close and personal, but I think she'll enjoy it.

After about an hour and a half on the road, Bella remembers to call her mom to let her know we've arrived safely. I can hear Renee's excitement, and I can't help but laugh when Bella complains about the lack of snow. They talk for a few minutes before Bella promises to call the house once we've reached the cabin so she doesn't get dinged with roaming charges on her cell. After Renee makes her promise several times, Bella hangs up, and I briefly turn to address her.

"Would you mind if we stopped at the grocery store before the cabin?" I ask. "We can always go out to a nice restaurant if you'd rather we wait for tomorrow."

"Nah, that's fine," she replies wistfully, still looking wide-eyed out the window as the mountains become a little clearer in the distance. "It's so beautiful here . . . cold, but beautiful."

Having vacationed here almost every year since I was five, I know my way around. Sure, it's changed over the years, but no more than any other city in the world. It's a popular tourist attraction—especially in the winter because of the ski resort—and the people are especially friendly.

It wasn't until I turned ten that my parents bought the cabin. They could see how much I loved coming here every winter, and they enjoyed the opportunity for the family to get away for a couple of weeks every year, so, to them, it only made sense. Even though I still visit once every year or two, it's been a while since we've all come here together. It's this reason alone that my parents are toying with the idea of selling it in the spring. I suppose it's probably one of the reasons I jumped at the opportunity to bring Bella here this year—to give her this glimpse into my past. I mean, I could have taken her anywhere for this week—Hawaii, Cancun, somewhere across the Atlantic—but I chose here because it might be my last opportunity to share my favourite pastime with her.

Once we arrive at the grocery store and find a parking spot, we walk through the lot, hand-in-hand, and Bella presses herself right up against me; she's so close I can hear her teeth beginning to chatter, and I suppress a smirk as I hold the door open for her.

"You'll adjust to the colder climate soon, sweetheart," I assure her as we grab a shopping cart.

Bella shrugs. "I'm not too worried. Besides, you promised me a cozy night by the fire, so . . ."

Laughing, we walk through the store, filling our shopping cart with enough food to get us through the week. Slowly, our cart begins to fill with plenty of fruits, vegetables, various cuts of meat, and a few extras that we don't necessarily need, but figure we might want if the mood strikes—chocolate, ice cream, and a few other various treats. We're just about finished when Bella realizes we forgot milk. I offer to go back for it, but she says she doesn't mind, and that she'll just meet me at the checkout counter.

I unload the cart, focused only on the task itself when a slender pair of hands covers my eyes, and I smile at Bella's attempt at being mysterious. It isn't until I hear the accompanying voice that I question the identity of the person behind me.

"Guess who," the familiar—and not Bella's—voice sings into my ear.

I immediately pull free, my eyes searching for Bella before they land on Heidi. I shouldn't be shocked to see her—she lives here, after all—but I am. "Heidi, how've you been?" I inquire with a smile, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her. It's been two years since I've seen her, but we keep in touch through business emails once or twice a year if we can.

"Good! I just got back from Switzerland with Demitri," she tells me, stepping back and holding out her left hand.

When I eye the ring on her finger, I smile even wider. "Congratulations. That's incredible news."

Laughing, Heidi playfully punches my upper arm. "Well, I couldn't wait around for you my whole life, now could I?"

Before I can answer, I hear a throat clear, and when I look behind Heidi, I see Bella standing there. She looks less than impressed, which can only mean she's reading into the situation incorrectly—not that I can blame her, really, given Heidi's playful comment and all.

In hopes of relieving the tension that thickens the air, I smile and reach for her hand. She accepts my advance willingly but continues to eye Heidi as she moves past her, so I wrap my arm around her, kiss her temple, and introduce them. "Bella, this is Heidi."

"Hi," Bella says with a curt nod.

Being a little on the outgoing side, Heidi smiles brightly and grabs Bella's hand. "Hi!" Then she looks at me. "I had no idea you were seeing someone!"

"It's still pretty new," Bella replies, her voice still a little softer and monotonous than usual as she continues to try and make sense of the situation. "So, uh, how do you two know each other?"

"Edward's my agent."

The minute the words leave Heidi's mouth, I feel Bella's rigid posture soften minutely next to me. "Oh." The sound of suspicion and doubt has faded from her voice, only to be replaced with embarrassment, and her smile appears a little more genuine. "And what is it you do?"

"I snowboard," Heidi explains, looking toward me. "In fact, if you guys want, I could hook you up with passes to the resort while you're in town." Heidi reaches into her purse and pulls out a business card, handing it to me. "I assume you're staying at the cabin?"

"We are," I answer, glancing down at the card before handing it to Bella.

"Perfect. Give me a call, and maybe Demitri and I can take you to dinner while you're in town." After checking her watch, Heidi waves. "Well, I have to get going, but I'll hear from you guys soon?"

I look down at Bella, and she gives me an affirmative smile and nod before I give Heidi an answer. "Definitely."

After Heidi leaves, Bella and I pay for our groceries and take them out to the vehicle before we head out to pick up a few bottles of wine. Bella's unusually quiet as we wander through the liquor store and pick out a couple different wines, and she remains that way until I finally ask her what's bothering her.

"I feel stupid," she confesses softly, looking over at me and then quickly dropping her eyes to her lap. "I saw you with her—with Heidi—and you were . . . hugging her, and I jumped to the conclusion that the two of you had a romantic history. Especially when she made that comment about not being able to wait for you."

I had suspected that she thought as much, and while there is certainly no part of me that harbours an attraction to Heidi _now, _that's not to say that we don't have a history; I was never in love with Heidi, but we were hanging out one night at the cabin, back when I was in my early twenties, and we'd both wound up drinking way too much . . .

My silence must speak volumes, because Bella shakes her head, her eyes reflecting her realization. "Oh," she breathes, but before she can think too much about it, I reach over and take her hand in mine while I keep my eyes on the icy roads.

"Bella, it was so long ago," I tell her, running my thumb over the back of her hand. "And it was only that one time. Heidi and I . . . we're _friends_. That's it."

Through my periphery, I see Bella nod, but her silence is deafening. We reach the cabin, and I pull up to the curb in front of it, put the vehicle into park, and turn to her. "Look, I'm twenty-seven—I have a history. While I'm sure you don't want to hear that I've been with other girls, you know that I have been. The only thing you need to know is that my past is exactly that: my past." Taking my other hand, I place my forefinger under her chin and coax her eyes to mine. "I want _you_. I love _you_. Got it?"

The corners of her lips twitch slightly before she gives in and smiles. Nodding, she bites her bottom lip lightly before releasing it. "Yeah. I love you, too."

Relieved that we've gotten over this little speed bump, I lean in and kiss her softly. She brings her other hand up and places it on the back of my neck, teasing the short hairs there as she presses her lips to mine a little more firmly. Reluctantly, I end the kiss and smile. "I know, love."

With a breathy laugh, she rests her forehead to mine. "Sorry for acting like a jealous freak," she whispers remorsefully. "I don't want to be that girl, but after—"

"Shh," I interrupt, shaking my head and bringing my right hand up to cradle her face. "I know. I get it. Just believe that I would never do what he did to you, okay?"

"Okay," she agrees, inhaling a steady breath and sitting up straight. "So, uh, I guess we should keep heading to the cabin, huh?"

Smiling, I turn the car off and open my door. "We're already here," I announce, sliding out of the car and heading around to her side to help her out. Unbeknownst to me, there's a patch of ice in front of the vehicle that I slip on, but thankfully, I am able to right myself before falling flat on my ass and humiliating myself on our first day here.

"Smooth," Bella ribs playfully as I open her door and hold out a hand for her.

Feeling equally as playful, I laugh and nudge her side, tickling her. "Let's just remember who's never skied before, shall we? This won't be a repeat of our paintball game a few weeks ago."

"We'll see," she says with a little giggle as I lead her to the back of the vehicle to grab out bags.

I hand her carry-on bag to her and then grab both of our suitcases before nodding her up toward the cabin. We walk up the unshoveled path that leads to the front deck, the thin layer of fresh snow crunching beneath our feet as we reach the stairs. Setting my suitcase down, I grab the key from my pocket and unlock the door, letting Bella go in first.

Her reaction is everything I imagined upon seeing the inside of my home away from home: she exhales a heavy breath, drops her bag from her shoulder in the doorway, and looks around, her eyes wide with awe and wonder.

"Oh, wow. Edward . . ."

Smiling, I step through the door behind her, set our luggage down, and close the door, wrapping my arms around her waist and kissing the side of her neck. "Welcome to Whistler, sweetheart."

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><p><strong>AN2: Well, they're in Whistler! FUN TIMES AHEAD!<strong>

**Please review and let me know what you thought.**

**I know I said this story would only be 30 chapters, but it looks like it might be a few more now as a few new developments have come up between these two. I know, you're all super disappointed.**

**This week's Rec:**

**The Countdown to Halloween **by** Breath of Twilight**

**SUMMARY: **A one shot each day, by a different author, with your fav characters & based off of some of your fav Halloween movies. Each full of citrus & spookish delights,all geared to get your month of October off to a good start each day. Ending with one mass collab written by every participant.

**www . fanfiction s/ 8526898 /1/ Countdown-to-Halloween-2012-Movie-Spin-Off-Ed**

**(remove the spaces)**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	27. Recipe for Romance

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 27. Recipe for Romance<strong>

Seeing Edward with his arms around another woman isn't exactly how I imagined us kicking off our time away. What it _did_ was reawaken the hurt and betrayal I felt when I found Jake exiting my dorm room after banging my roommate—amplified exponentially, given it was Edward in some other woman's arms.

I won't lie: I sized her up, gauging just how big a threat she might pose to my relationship, but when I saw her hold her hand out to Edward, and he congratulated her, I knew she was spoken for. This set my mind at ease . . . or it did until I heard her tell him she couldn't wait for him forever. That . . . well, it turned me into a bit of a jealous freak, even though the more I think about it, the more I seem to be able to single out the teasing tone that laced her words.

Picking up on this, Edward worked hard to assuage my fears that he wasn't attracted to Heidi. I felt pretty stupid for even thinking that he would look at another woman in that way—especially since he's always said how much he despises Jake for doing what he did to me.

However, knowing that he and Heidi had some kind of a past—even if it was a one-time thing, fuelled solely by loneliness and alcohol—stung. I know he's got a past—so do I—but that doesn't mean I want to hear about it or meet his exes. The last thing I need is to picture them together and wonder if maybe seeing each other again will reignite the spark between them, leaving me in the lurch. While I want to believe Edward would never do that to me, I can't help but let my thoughts wander in that direction given my track record.

I believe him when he tells me he doesn't want anyone else and that he loves me. It's hard not to believe him when he speaks with an ironclad conviction that makes my knees tremble and my pulse race. And I do—believe him, that is. I love him more than I ever thought was possible, and, while I realize that we haven't known each other that long, I now understand what my mom meant about knowing the instant you meet "the one." Edward is that for me. This isn't to say I'm ready to settle down and get married just yet—I'm still only twenty and beginning my life—but I see a future with Edward if he's patient enough to wait for me to finish school and start my career.

After my insecurities are put to rest again, Edward announces we've arrived at the cabin and rushes over to my side of our rental to help me out. I don't expect him to slip on the icy terrain, especially considering he's no stranger to ice and snow. Seeing this makes me giggle, and I'm also feeling a little leery, because if _he_ slips on it, then I'm basically screwed. I can barely walk on a good day; adding unfamiliar elements into the mix won't bode well for my tailbone. Ice doesn't really help the uncoordinated, you know.*

As I step out of the car, I look up the small hill that the cabin sits on and smile. It's even more amazing than the picture Edward gave me. Stairs lead us up to a covered front deck where two sets of bay windows face east. While I have yet to see the inside, I can only imagine what it will be like to watch the sunrise in the mornings with a warm cup of coffee. The outer walls of the house are those of a traditional log cabin, and I instantly fall in love with the beauty of the home surrounded by fluffy white snow.

If the outside of the cabin impressed me, it really shouldn't come as a surprise when I am rendered breathless upon stepping inside. I drop my bag suddenly, stepping farther into the room and looking around. The main construct of the building remains intact, with large solid wood beams supporting the upper floor, and a staircase to my left that leads upstairs, where I assume the bedrooms are located.

The main floor is completely open-concept, with the living room off to the right, well-lit by the two front windows that sit on either side of a large fireplace. The furniture is modern and plush, and I can tell that Edward's mother has decorated it; she's got a certain style that seems to have carried over into her work on Edward's place back in Phoenix as well. Just past the living room, beyond the couch and the table that sits behind it, is the kitchen and dining area. They are both awash in the light of the setting sun behind the house that streams in through the wall-to-wall windows there.

"Oh, wow. Edward . . ." I begin to say, my voice soft and barely above a whisper.

The door closes softly behind me, and I hear the quiet _click_ of the lock sliding into place before Edward's arms wind around my waist and his lips touch down on the exposed skin of my neck. "Welcome to Whistler, sweetheart."

"This is . . ." I try to find the words to describe how I feel, but anything I think of seems lacking. "Well, it's incredible."

With his lips moving up and down my neck, he chuckles, sending a shiver through my body as he removes his arms from my waist and picks our luggage back up. "Come," he says. "Let me show you upstairs."

I grab my carry-on again and follow him up the stairs, my eyes still taking in the simplistic beauty of his home-away-from-home. Upstairs is no different: everything about the house structurally remains original with its visible wood beams supporting the roof and the older wooden window casings. There are two bedrooms toward the back of the house, a large bathroom along the north wall, and a third, slightly larger bedroom along the entire east wall. Upon further investigation, I can tell that the bathroom has been remodeled with a more modern vanity and tub, and the bedrooms have this cozy feel to all of them, made even more inviting by the large beds and thick, fluffy duvets.

Naturally, I assume the larger room is Edward's parents', so when I begin to exit it with my bag, he stops me. "Where are you going?"

"Across the hall?" I reply questioningly.

"This is our room," he tells me, setting our bags down at the foot of the bed. "My parents let me have first pick when I was a kid, and naturally, I wanted the biggest room in the house," he explains, lifting his bag onto the bed and opening it to unpack. "Since they had the master suite back home, and we really only stayed here a few weeks a year, they let me keep it."

Edward and I work on unpacking our bags quickly before retrieving the groceries from the already chilly SUV and putting them away. By the time everything has been done, the sky has darkened a little more, and my stomach is growling. Smiling, Edward hands me the telephone and leads me back to the living room.

"Why don't you call your parents, let them know we made it to the cabin, and I'll start on dinner?" he suggests, motioning for me to sit on the couch while he lights a fire in the fireplace and then lights a few candles on the coffee table in front of me. When he shoots me one of his sexy smirks, pairing it with an equally panty-wetting wink, I know he's got his own agenda for tonight.

After he's finished, he leans down and kisses me softly. "I'll bring you a glass of wine and then start on dinner. You just sit back and relax."

Edward leaves me alone in the living room, the smell and crackle of the fire relaxing me even more than I already was, and I dial my parents' number. It rings twice before Dad answers.

"Hey, Dad," I say happily. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good, kiddo. How was your flight?"

I pause for a quick second, thinking about just how "good" the flight really was, and I smile. "It was great. Over before we knew it."

"And the drive to the cabin?" he asks, sounding excited to hear about my holiday. "Edward drove safely, I gather?"

Once a police chief, always a police chief. I laugh. "Yes, Daddy. We drove very carefully. We actually got a pretty sweet rental, too."

I talk to Dad a few minutes more before Edward reappears with my wine and then retreats for the kitchen to start dinner. I tell Dad all about the cabin and the weather before he tells me he has to let me go so he can get ready for work.

"Okay. Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too, Bells. Here's your mother," he says, handing the phone off.

Mom and I talk for a bit while the air around me is infused with the smell of dinner. She tells me that she's got a doctor's appointment in a few days, and is really hoping she'll get an early ultrasound. It's weird to hear my mother talking about this sort of thing, but it's also pretty exciting. I ask all sorts of questions on whether or not she and Dad have talked about baby names, to which she tells me they haven't, mainly because they don't want to jinx anything. Mom's always been a little superstitious about that sort of thing, so I can understand her reasoning to a degree.

My stomach rumbles several times before I tell my mom that I should go help with dinner. After saying our goodbyes, I hang up the phone and set it on the end table before grabbing my half-full glass of wine and joining Edward in the kitchen.

Making my way for the stove where Edward is hard at work, I set the glass down on the counter next to his and wind my arms around his waist. I stretch up onto my tiptoes to peer over his shoulder at what he's cooking, but it's futile; he's too darn tall, so I settle for kissing the skin above the neckline of his sweater. He seems to appreciate this, because he groans and reaches behind him with one hand to run it over my hip and ass.

"Careful," he warns playfully. "Wouldn't want me to burn dinner because you've distracted me, now would you?" He turns his head to look at me, and I push my bottom lip out into a mock-pout. This makes him laugh as he pats my backside lightly and returns his attention to dinner.

When he declares the meal done, I help to add the finishing touches before we plate the chicken, steamed vegetables, and potatoes and sit next to each other at the dining room table. Edward lights a couple of tall pillared candles and refills our wine glasses before pulling the shades back from the window so we can watch the fresh snow falling from the sky. Once again, I'm rendered speechless as I watch the already-thick blanket of snow growing, and a big part of me can't wait to get outside tomorrow.

"I know I'm going to start sounding like a broken record," I say, reaching over and placing my hand over his, "but this is so amazing. Thank you again for such a wonderful gift. You really are too perfect."

Edward chuckles, giving my hand a squeeze. "While I appreciate that you think so, I'm far from perfect," he tries to tell me, even though I have yet to see one thing that would tell me otherwise.

"If you say so," I reply with an over-exaggerated eye-roll.

Dinner is phenomenal—which is no real surprise—and when we're finished eating and cleaning up the kitchen together, Edward suggests we relax in front of the fire. Now, I had snuggling on the couch in mind, but Edward's idea was, admittedly, much more romantic: he suggested we sit on the white faux-fur rug right in front of the fire with our wine while he showed me photos from past vacations. Originally, I thought it odd that there'd be pictures in their vacation home, but Edward tells me that one of his favourite things to do as a kid before bed was to sit in front of the fire with his parents and a mug of hot cocoa and go through them. I've painted a sweet image in my head of a pint-sized, and very copper-topped, Edward in his plaid flannel jammies, a hot chocolate moustache staining his upper lip, and a photo album nestled in his lap.

The temperature in the living room is rising, and I know that part of it is from being so close to the fireplace, but another factor is the proximity of my body to Edward's. I'm sitting facing the fire, with my right leg bent out to the side and my left bent in front of me, my foot flat on the ground, and Edward is sidled up to my left side, running his fingers through the lengths of my hair. I shiver every time his fingers ghost through the strands, and he leans forward to kiss the spot below my ear.

Smiling, I take another sip of my wine; I've had a few glasses now, and am beginning to feel the effects of it as it makes my limbs tingle and feel weightless. "You're distracting me," I tell him, flipping another page in the album that rests on the floor in front of me. "Tell me about this one."

Edward laughs softly, rubbing his hand up and down my back as he peers at the picture I'm pointing at. In it, Edward looks about ten, and he's outside, covered in snow, with the biggest smile I've ever seen plastered on his face. Long tufts of his coppery hair peeks out from beneath his winter hat, and his green eyes were alight with happiness and excitement.

"That would be from . . . oh, about eighteen years ago," he explains, scooting a little closer until his chest is pressed against my side. "We'd just gotten back from the resort, Mom was inside making some hot apple cider, and my dad and I were making a snowman out in the front yard." Edward reaches behind him and grabs the bottle of wine, filling both of our glasses again. "One thing led to another, and before I knew it, a snowball fight had broken out." He laughs again as he recalls this memory. "Naturally, I excelled in sports at an early age."

"So modest," I tease, interrupting and pushing him lightly.

Laughing, Edward shakes his head. "He basically didn't stand a chance."

I glance down at the picture again and smirk, tapping my finger on it and pointing out all the snow that covers him. "Looks like you might have gotten hit a few times, too."

Edward scoffs, reaching over my leg and flipping to the next page. "I had to let him think he at least stood a chance."

"Oh, okay," I say, prodding him a little. "You tell yourself whatever you have to to help you sleep at night."

We go through the rest of the album, and Edward tells me stories of his youth. Every story he tells me has me feeling closer to him than I ever thought possible, but it also makes me wish we'd met sooner . . . of course, then I begin to think a bit more logically, and I realize that when he was nine, I'd have been two, and when he'd had his first real girlfriend at fifteen, I'd have been eight. This is not the recipe for romance, so I quickly derail that train of thought and thank the heavens that we met at this point in our lives—you know, when the age difference isn't quite so . . . well, gross.

"What about your childhood?" Edward asks, setting the finished album aside.

"What about it?" I quip, finishing the last of my wine.

Smirking, Edward slips one of his arms beneath my left leg, wrapping the other around my waist, and pulls me onto his lap. "Well, where did you and your family go on vacations? What was your favourite thing to do?"

"Well," I begin, pushing a few strands of Edward's slightly disheveled hair back off his forehead, "we used to spend a few weeks every summer in Jacksonville. My mom loves the ocean, and we'd rent a house on the beach every year."

"Used to? Why don't you anymore?"

I shrug. "Time, I suppose. It's hard to coordinate our schedules during the summer."

"So what were your favourite things to do while in Jacksonville?"

"Dad was pretty into boating, and while I wasn't particularly skilled at it, I enjoyed water skiing," I tell him, gaining a big smile from Edward.

"Water skiing," he repeats. "So you are a little more adventurous than you've led me to believe."

I snicker. "I don't know about _adventurous_, but—"

Edward's barking laughter interrupts me. "Oh, I think that the flight attendants would probably agree with me that you're a thrill-seeker."

Feeling the need to remind him that our initiation into the mile high club was just as much his adventurous side as it was mine, I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off, pressing his forehead to mine and curling his fingers into my lower back. "Honestly, it's one of the things I love most about you. You're not easy to read like other girls."

"You say that like you know what every other girl on the planet is thinking," I reply cockily.

"Most girls are terribly transparent." He sighs before ghosting his lips over mine, teasing me and making the longing that's beginning to swell inside of me grow. "But you . . . you're always keeping me on my toes, love."

As Edward's hands continue to move over my back, slowly lifting my shirt and setting the entire surface of my skin ablaze, I hum, brushing my nose over his and teasing his lips with mine. "Mmmm . . . well, I think I'd much rather have you on your back than on your toes right now."

"See," he says with a breathy chuckle as he slips his hands beneath my sweater and removes it, "always surprising me."

I make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, push it off his shoulders, and throw it behind me—careful to avoid the fireplace, though. Our lips crash together in a frenzy of lust and need as Edward's hands move down my body and come to rest between my legs. He strokes the inner seam of my jeans, making me whimper and writhe against him, before popping the button and slipping his hand behind the denim.

He hisses when he comes into contact with my bare skin, pulling his lips from mine and looking deep into my eyes. "I can't believe I almost forgot about this," he says, his voice low and raspy with desire as he moves his fingers back and forth over the smooth skin. When he moves his hand again, my eyes close, and I moan in appreciation. "We were so rushed earlier that I think I need to take things a little slower—appreciate your little surprise for me properly."

"Yes," I pant, "_please._"

Seeming a little reluctant at first, Edward removes his hand from my jeans and lays me down on the floor. Positioning himself between my thighs, Edward hooks his fingers into the waist of my pants and works them down my thighs, taking my socks with them as he sets them off to the side with our shirts. The warmth of the fire washes over my naked body as Edward slips his own jeans off and kneels before me in his boxers, running his hands up the smooth flesh of my calves.

My fingers twitch with the urge to grab his wrists, pull him down onto me, and wrap my legs around him . . . but before I can follow through, he leans forward and kisses my abdomen, making my stomach flutter, and slowly works his way south.

"Oh, god," I breathe, lifting my head to watch as he kisses and nips at my hip bones before focusing solely on the warm, needy flesh between my legs. My pulse begins to race, my hands curling into the soft rug beneath me, and I'm no longer able to keep my head up the second he flicks his tongue over my clit. Instinctively, my hips rise up off the floor, seeking even more pleasure, and Edward grips the tops of my thighs, holding me as still as possible while driving me completely insane with want.

The pressure of his tongue alternates between soft and firm, fast and slow, and I continue to shift my hips beneath him as much as possible as my orgasm builds. The rough stubble that's scattered along his chiseled jaw brushes against the sensitive skin of my pussy and inner thighs, sending wave after wave of arousal coursing through my veins like electricity. My mind becomes muddled with every languid stroke of his tongue, and I'm seconds away from begging for him to fuck me until he crawls up my body and I feel his stiff erection—still hidden behind his boxers—against my very needy flesh.

His mouth meets mine in a searing kiss that renders me unable to think of anything other than how his lips feel, how I can taste nothing but wine and sex on his tongue, and how his hard cock keeps hitting me in almost all the right ways. Unable to take the waiting any more, I bring my legs up his body and attempt to work his boxers down with my toes; I'm unsuccessful, but he gets the hint, balancing on one hand while still kissing me to push them roughly down his hips before thrusting into me.

The sensation of him inside me makes us both cry out with fulfillment, and soon our hips are undulating in tandem as we both work toward our mutual release. Every time he thrusts his hips, the muscles in my body tense a little bit more, and it feels like a coil is tightening in the depths of my stomach, threatening to spring free at any moment.

"Jesus, Bella," Edward breathes against my lips, moving one of his hands down my body and gripping my ass hard, pulling me against him.

With my hip shifted at a slightly different angle, I find myself barely hanging on, and my fingers curl into Edward's shoulder. He palms my ass again, but this time one of his long fingers grazes a sensitive area—an _off limits_ area—and I freeze, trying to understand why it felt so . . . _good_.

Edward quickly understands, looking me in the eyes remorsefully and moving to pull his hand back. "Sorry. It was an acciden—"

I shake my head, letting my hand travel down the length of his arm until it reaches his wrist, and then I guide his hand back to my ass. "It's . . . um . . ." I stammer quietly, feeling nervous, ". . . okay." I pause, gauging the confused look in his eyes as it transforms into shock and then slight intrigue.

His hand moves back to its previous position when my nerves kick back in, afraid it's maybe too much too soon, and I quickly add, "Just . . . uh . . . I don't . . . um . . . Well, what I mean is . . ." It's like I've suddenly become that sexually unaware girl he first met back in November, and I hate that I've lost any confidence I might have gained since then.

Smiling, Edward brings his other hand up and brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. "I won't do anything you're not ready for." He moves his hips again, and almost all of my nerves are forgotten as we find our rhythm.

Soon enough, I'm lost in the moment, reveling in the way he feels moving above me, and how much love I see in his deep green eyes as he holds my gaze. As promised, Edward keeps his hand still on my ass while his hips continue to rock back and forth. My climax quickly builds back up to where it was only moments before, and just as the first ripple of pleasure passes through me, Edward's hand ventures further until he's very gently massaging the area just below our joined bodies.

"Oh, god!" I cry out, my back arching up off the ground when my orgasm rips through me. I claw at Edward's back, his hips jerking unevenly through his own release, and my vision goes slightly dark and cloudy as every muscle in my body tenses and then relaxes. My arms and legs are trembling as they fall back to the floor, and Edward rolls off of me and onto his back, but pulls me against him while we try to catch our breath.

With the fire crackling in the background, I rest my head on Edward's chest and listen to his racing heart slow to its regular pace, beating in time with my own, and I begin to believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever ruin what we have.

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><p><strong>AN2: There we go. Their first night in Whistler. What did you think?<strong>

**There's more wintery fun to be had in the next couple chapters, so stick around!**

**On a side note, updates will probably be every 2 weeks during November because I've signed up for NaNoWriMo, and am using that time to finish my original fiction story, Cursed. I've been working on it so long, but always get sidetracked with FF ideas that it always slides to the back burner. I'll still be working on RwaV, so don't worry there ;)**

**Anyway, please review and let me know what you thought!**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	28. It's All Downhill from Here

**A/N: _Twilight_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of _Rm w/ a Vu_ are mine.**

**I'd like to apologize for taking so long to get this chapter posted. As you'll remember, I took November to participate in NaNoWriMo so I could get my original novel a little closer to completion. While it remains unfinished, I did get about half of it written, and feel confident I can get the rest of it done over the next couple of months! I can't wait to finish it and send it off to publishers! It's both a little scary and exciting!**

**Anyway, thanks so much for being so patient with me! I really do have the best readers!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 28. It's All Downhill From Here<strong>

It isn't surprising that I fell asleep so easily the night before. Sure, the flight wasn't overly long, but I was just so relaxed after dinner and a few glasses of wine—not to mention having worn ourselves out having sex in front of the fire. It was the perfect first night here, and I honestly don't know how we're going to top it.

There's a bit of a chill in the air when I first wake up, but instead of getting out of bed to turn up the heat, I scoot back on the bed until I feel the warmth of Edward's body against my own. When my feet touch his, he groans and jerks them back.

"Your feet are freezing," he croaks, draping his arm over me and pulling me closer while avoiding my feet. He gives it a few seconds before tucking his flannel-clad legs and bare feet against mine. "I can go turn up the heat, if you want."

"Mmm," I hum contemplatively. "I think you're doing a bang-up job of that right now."

Edward chuckles, kissing my bare shoulder and tugging the blanket up to our necks. "Why, Miss Swan, are you trying to seduce me?"

"No," I say with a laugh. "I'm trying not to freeze to death."

Edward sees my playfulness as a reason to retaliate, and soon, he's tickling me relentlessly until I'm thrashing beneath the thick comforter and howling with laughter. Moments later, the blanket is down by our feet, completely defeating its purpose, and I roll off the bed and away from Edward.

Unlike in Phoenix, I'm dressed in flannel pajamas. I contemplated wearing one of my new pieces of lingerie for Edward last night, but it was quite a bit chillier in our room than it was in front of the fire, so I decided to save it for tonight.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask, picking out a pair of jeans and a white turtleneck sweater.

Edward makes the bed while I get dressed, but his focus isn't solely on the bed. I don't fail to notice that his eyes are on me the entire time I'm changing. If the look in his eyes didn't turn me on so damn much, I'd probably find it a little creepy. Okay, no I wouldn't. "Well," he begins, "we'll go to the ski resort today and get in some time on the slopes and then maybe go for dinner tonight."

I pull my sweater on and nod. "Cool." It suddenly occurs to me that I'll likely be on the beginner hill for the entire day while I learn. "You're not going to waste your mad skills babysitting me on the kiddie hill, are you?" Edward regards me curiously. "I just don't want you to feel obligated to stay with me all day. You shouldn't have to miss out because I've never done this before."

Laughing, Edward tosses our pillows into place and walks over to me. "I won't be missing out," he assures me. "We've got all week, and I'm confident you'll do just fine and will be itching to hit the more advanced trails soon enough. I'd prefer to make sure you're comfortable on them before allowing that to happen."

After Edward dresses in jeans and a blue sweater, we head downstairs for breakfast. Edward calls Heidi while I start cooking to see if she can still get us passes to the resort. It still stings to know that the two of them have a history, but I believe wholeheartedly that Edward would never betray me the way Jake did. Of course, this doesn't stop me from eavesdropping on his end of the conversation.

"So you'll be there in an hour?" There's a pause while Heidi says something. "Cool . . . I've got my equipment stored here, so I won't need rentals . . . No. Mom's skis are here, too . . . Oh, right. Actually, let me ask her." I look up from the cooking bacon and turn toward the island where Edward is sitting. "I forgot to ask, but do you want to ski or board?"

"Ummm . . ." I'd never really given it much thought, actually. I probably should have.

"My mom's skis are here, but if you wanted to board, Heidi's got an extra one you can borrow. You're about the same height, so it'd be fine."

I think about my options for a minute, trying to figure out what might be easier, and I'm honestly not sure. If either of them are anything like water-skiing or wake-boarding, I'd probably have to go with wake-boarding, because I had a nasty habit of getting my water skis crossed and wiping out. Yeah, it's probably a smarter choice.

"I think I want to snowboard?" I tell him, sounding a little unsure before I nod my resolutely. "Yes. Definitely snowboard." Smiling, Edward relays the information to Heidi and tells her we'll be heading to the resort after breakfast.

By the time he hangs up the phone, the bacon and eggs are done, and I take them to the small table in the kitchen where Edward joins me. While we eat, I ask questions about snowboarding: how to distribute my weight, what to expect . . . you know, things that will help keep me off my ass. Edward answers as many questions as he can, but he assures me that there's only so much that he can tell me that'll actually help me. Apparently being thrown right in is the best way to learn. Awesome. I'll be on my ass in half a second flat.

After cleaning the kitchen, Edward grabs his gear and runs out to the car, starting it to warm it up. I'm just about to put my jacket and boots on when he stops me. "Before you put your boots on, we should determine your lead foot."

"My what?"

"The foot you'll lead with on the board," he clarifies.

I shrug. "Well, I'm right-handed, so . . ."

Edward chuckles. "That doesn't always determine your dominant foot for boarding."

I nod. "Oh, okay. How do I do that?"

"It's going to sound a little strange, but one way is to run across the floor and slide. Whichever foot you put in front is usually your lead foot."

This sounds like it has the potential for injury. "What other ways are there?"

He smirks. "Well, that was really the best and nicest way." He tries to suppress a chuckle, but fails miserably. "I could do to you what I did to Emmett . . ."

"Which was?" I inquire with an arched brow.

"I stood behind him and pushed him. He stepped out with his left foot, and that turned out to be his lead foot," he explains.

This sounds even more dangerous than the other way. My reflexes are usually a little slow, so I'd likely land on my face because my legs would fail to react in a situation like that. "Okay. First of all," I begin, smiling, "that's just mean. Second, I hope you've got video of that somewhere. And third, I'll take option one."

"I figured you might. Besides, I wouldn't be able to bring myself to push you anyway," he tells me with a wink.

Feeling a little nervous—because I'm sure I'm about to wipe out and make a total ass out of myself—I cross the room, telling myself that as long as I don't have to slide a long distance, I should be fine. Sadly, I know that what I want to do and what's actually going to happen are going to be two totally different things. This is going to be interesting.

I take a deep breath and hold it as I take a few quick strides across the hardwood floor and then turn to the side instinctually, my right foot taking the lead as I slide toward Edward. I'm pleasantly surprised when I stay on my feet and don't stumble at all. A small victory—yet one still worthy of celebrating—for sure.

"Okay. Right foot it is," Edward declares, holding my jacket open for me to put on. "I always knew you were a little goofy."

My jaw drops. I'm not sure what to think or how to defend myself, not that I'm given the chance, because Edward leans forward and kisses my cheek. "It's a term used for those whose planted foot is their right."

"Well, it's a horrible term," I argue somewhat childishly, zipping my jacket up. "What foot do you lead with?"

"My left."

"So, if I'm _goofy_, then what the hell are you?" I ask, truly curious.

Edward shrugs. "Leading with your left is considered regular. But that's not to say that any one way is more normal than the other. It's no different than being right- or left-handed. They just have odd terminology for it."

Accepting Edward's explanation, I slip my boots on before grabbing my ski pants, mittens, and knitted hat, and we head out to the car. The cold air shocks me, rendering me momentarily breathless when I inhale. I can't get to the car fast enough as the cool air cuts through my jeans and nips at my bare face. Edward treats it as though it's no big deal, which makes me feel like a total wuss.

"You'll acclimatize quickly," he assures me, opening my door for me. After I've settled in my seat, he closes it and gets behind the wheel.

My teeth are chattering slightly, and even though I'm already in the slightly warmer vehicle, I pull my hat and mittens on. "Are you telling me you're already used to this?"

Edward laughs. "Not exactly, but I've experienced colder stays here when I was younger, so I know things could be worse." He reaches over and places a hand on my knee. "You'll warm up as soon as we get moving. Trust me."

We drive to the resort and park the car. Edward and I grab our things and head into the main building to meet Heidi and Demitri. They're already inside, waiting for us, and Heidi smiles widely upon spotting us.

"Oh, good, you're here." She urges Demitri to follow her as she approaches us. "Bella, I brought this for you to use today. No sense shelling out money for a rental if you don't have to, right?"

"Definitely," I agree. "Thanks."

After renting my boots and buying a pair of goggles, the four of us head outside. Heidi and Demitri offer to come with Edward and me to the beginner hill, but I decline. I don't need more witnesses to what's sure to go down on that hill—me, and not in the kinky sex way that I like. No. I imagine something straight out of a cartoon where I fall and roll so fast that I form a giant snowball. While I'm sure the chances of that are near impossible, there's a part of me that feels confident that if it's going to happen to anyone, it'll be me.

After Heidi and Demitri tell us to have fun, they head off to the lift while Edward and I put our ski pants and boarding boots on. Once we're ready, we head for the beginner hill, but before we hit the lift to take us up, Edward kneels before me, taking my board and flipping it the right way around before asking me to step onto it. Turns out Heidi is "goofy" too, which makes me feel a little more confidant. Once my right foot is in the binding, he attaches what he calls "the leash," and explains that it'll prevent a runaway board in the event of a wipeout.

I laugh. "In the event of?" I parrot. "You realize that there's no question about it, right? I'm _going_ to wipe out. Several times, in fact."

Chuckling, Edward stands up and steps onto his board with his left foot, attaching his own leash to his boot, and then he demonstrates how to push off as though we're on skateboards, and we head toward the lift. I'm a little nervous waiting for the lift to approach, and I jump slightly when I feel it, but Edward helps me out, and soon we're on our way to the top of the beginner hill.

Once we're clear of the lift, I follow Edward. We stop at the top of the hill and he instructs me to sit down with my board perpendicular to the hill. Once I'm seated, he helps me put my other boot into its binding, and then he shows me how to make sure they're tight enough. My feet don't move within the bindings, and they're secure in my boots, so Edward deems me ready to go and helps me up. After securing his other foot into his binding, he shows me how to apply pressure to my planted foot. He decides to practice this a few times in a stationary position at the top of the hill before we attempt to go down. Which is fine by me.

"Okay," he says, standing next to me. "You want to bend your knees and keep your back straight so that you feel balanced, okay?"

"Uh huh," I reply nervously, slowly doing as he instructs and being sure not to go down the hill just yet. "Like this?"

"Good," he says, "but make sure you're not leaning your body when applying pressure." He must recognize my confusion, so he elaborates. "Pretend you're squashing a bug under your foot."

"Ew," I declare quietly, but do as he suggests.

"That's it. Just like that. Now lean back a little . . . but not too much, or you'll wind up on your ass." He watches me, and I feel unsteady, but I'm able to right myself before I fall. "Good. Good," he praises. "Alternating from heel to toe is called carving. It's a little more advanced, so we should just stick to riding your heel until you're confident on your board."

Beaming, I look up at Edward, and he smiles back. "Okay, so we're going to try the hill." I nod, my heart hammering nervously. "Remember, I want you to ride your heel edge first, okay? It'll act kind of like a snowplow and give you a feel for the board going slow so you can get used to it. Think you can do that?"

I try to visualize it in my head, and try leaning back on my board a little to see what it might feel like. "Yeah. Let's do this."

Edward leads us forward a little, and then turns to me. "Steady and slow, all right?" I nod. "And, for whatever reason, if you feel like you're about to bite it, lean back—not forward. It feels a hell of a lot better to fall on your ass than it does your face."

Visions of the giant snowball replay in my mind, and I agree. "Got it."

Edward urges me to push off, and I do, going as slow as possible while he follows. He stays close, watching as I struggle to keep my board from pointing straight down the hill. Sure, it's a small hill, but I still don't want to fly down it. That's sure to end with me smacking into a tree, the wall of a building, or another human being.

I'd like to say that my first run was wipeout-free, but it isn't. I fall flat on my ass about thirty seconds in when I shift to zig instead of zag. Edward's right there to help me back up, and while I'm embarrassed, his constant assurance that I'm doing well helps to boost my confidence a little at a time. I realize that wiping out is normal, but it bruises my pride as much as it does my tailbone.

Every run down the hill gets a little easier, and I find I wipe out less and less . . . until Edward suggests I try carving. I start off slow, leaning back on my heel like before, and then I lean forward the way Edward showed me before we went down the hill the first time. I make a mistake by leaning too far forward, and when I feel myself starting to fall forward, I over-correct, leaning too far back and toppling over so hard one of my boots comes loose from its binding.

Snow flies up next to me as Edward stops abruptly, showing off a little. He helps me reattach my board and then offers me a hand up so we can keep going. He's smiling from ear-to-ear, and, even though I've wiped out far more than I'd hoped, I have to admit that I'm having an absolute blast. Even the cold isn't bothering me much anymore.

We stay on the beginner hill for another hour—way more than Edward probably ever bargained for—before I tell him I want to try a bigger hill. I'm sure had I asked him a half hour ago, he'd have been hesitant, but considering I've had less than a handful of wipeouts in that time, he's pretty open to the idea. He's sure to only take me to a trail I can handle, which isn't much longer than this one, but it's got a few more obstacles and rough patches that throw me off. I fall, but I'm not discouraged at all, and I even wave off Edward's offer to help me up, wanting to get back on my own feet.

I feel kind of guilty for keeping Edward away from the more advanced trails, but I can tell he's trying to make the most of it by doing a few fancy moves and turns every so often. I make myself a promise that by the end of our trip, I'll be good enough to take on one of the bigger hills with him.

Even though I've fallen more on the more intermediate hill than I did on the beginner one, I want to keep going, even when Edward suggests a little break. It isn't until I realize it's almost two in the afternoon that I agree to it—but only if he promises to bring me back out after we grab a bite to eat.

"So, what do you think?" Edward asks as we store our boards and head for the chalet. I don't realize just how cold it is outside until a warm blast of air hits me in the face upon walking through the door.

"It's fun!" I exclaim. "I'm having a blast."

Edward smiles, taking my jacket from me when we reach the restaurant. "Good. You're doing amazing."

Edward and I both order a mug of hot chocolate and a chicken club with fries. We enjoy a private lunch, but the entire time, I'm thinking about getting back out there. While I had an inkling that I'd enjoy the sport, I never imagined being this taken by it. Normally, I'm not the biggest fan of cold weather, always putting the kibosh on family trips to the Pacific Northwest, but I realize I've never really given it a fair chance. Perhaps it's just the constant cover of cloud and rain that I'm not a huge fan of. Honestly, I love the way the cool air feels on my face as I go down the hill, how crisp it smells, and how soft the snow is beneath me.

After lunch, Edward suggests a walk around the grounds for a bit before we hit the slopes again. This makes sense, since I'm susceptible to cramping if I do anything too strenuous after a meal.

We put our jackets on, and Edward takes my hand, leading me from the building and toward one of the walking trails. It's warmed up a bit since this morning, and the cold wind has died down a little. There aren't many people on the trails, making it even more romantic with the frosted branches overhead and the shimmery flakes of snow blowing in the gentle breeze. It's almost magical, and I snuggle into Edward's side as I take it all in, not even caring that my face is cold and my nose is threatening to run. Sure, not my sexiest moment, but I can't find it in myself to really care about that right now.

Well, not _much_.

I'm so lost in the perfection of the moment that I'm caught off guard when Edward wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to the ground. My playful cry of surprise turns to laughter, and Edward props himself up on one arm to look down at me. My first thought is to seek revenge, but seeing the flecks of snow in his dark coppery hair and the creases in the outer corners of his brilliant green eyes has me overcome with desire.

Despite the fact that snow has found its way up the back of my jacket and is melting against the skin between my ski pants and upraised sweater, I lift my head, bringing one mitten-clad hand up to cup Edward's face as I draw him closer to me. Despite the winter chill, Edward's lips are soft and warm against my own. Our big puffy jackets and ski pants keep us from getting too close, and they seem to trap in the heat that radiates from every pore of my body.

Because I know there's only so far we can go here, I open my eyes to see his are still closed and reach out with my free hand to grab a handful of snow. Edward is none-the-wiser as I slowly raise my arm and press my snow-filled palm to the back of his neck. His eyes snap open in shock, and my lips curl up into a smile against his before I burst out laughing.

"I can't believe you just did that," he admonishes, his eyes glinting with a plan for revenge that I don't recognize until it's too late, and my moment of triumph is short-lived when he grabs his own handful of snow and shoves it down the top of my jacket. I'm lucky to have chosen a turtle neck, because, had I worn any other sweater, there would be a lot more melting snow between my boobs instead of the tiny droplets that are currently seeping through the fabric.

I jump to my feet before he can realize this and rectify it, but it's too late; a full-out snowball war has begun. It really isn't fair, because I've never been particularly good with throwing things and hitting my target. Give me a gun, and I can shoot circles around anything—as well as hit the target, time and time again—but give me a ball of any size and material, and I'm a lost cause.

As luck may have it, however, I manage to get a few shots in, and after about twenty minutes of this, Edward and I are both covered in snow. I'm laughing so hard my stomach is starting to hurt, and Edward leads us back toward the hill.

"You want to hit the slopes again?" Edward asks, wrapping an arm around me and holding me close while he leans down to kiss the top of my head. I quickly agree, and we head over to where we left our boards, strapping them on and make our way to the lifts.

"Hey, you two!" Heidi greets us, having just come off her latest run. "How are you guys doing?"

I smile. "Good, actually. I think I'm getting the hang of it."

"She's a natural," Edward brags, and I roll my eyes.

"Oh yeah, I'm a real pro."

Heidi and Demitri laugh. "Well, we're going to pack it in within the hour," she says. "Do you guys want to go somewhere for dinner afterward?"

I look to Edward, who's waiting for me to answer, so I nod. "Yeah, sure. That would be great."

The four of us continue on toward the lifts, talking about meeting in the chalet in an hour, and then go our separate ways. Like earlier, I'm far from perfect, and I wipe out a few times, but the more I practice, the better I get. Carving is still a bit of a challenge, but I am able to manage it for a couple of minutes before falling on my ass. Not that it's surprising, but Edward's amazing, and I hate that he's probably bored out of his mind on this stupid intermediate trail while I make a total fool out of myself. He swears that he doesn't want to be anywhere else and that he's having fun teaching me, but I can't help but feel like I'm holding him back.

"Look, there's about twenty minutes left before we have to meet Heidi and Demitri," I tell him when we reach the foot of the hill. "Why don't you go to one of the more experienced trails? I feel bad for keeping you on the baby hills all this time."

Edward laughs. "Sweetheart, it's fine. I really don't mind."

"Maybe not," I counter, removing my board from my feet. "But I do. Go. Have fun."

"What about you?"

I shrug. "My legs are actually a little sore. I'll go inside and wait for you guys. Maybe grab a cup of hot chocolate or something."

"You're sure?" he asks, and I nod. "All right. I won't be long." And, with that, he kisses me on the cheek and heads back toward the lift while I head inside the chalet and order another mug of hot chocolate. I remove my ski pants and jacket, draping them over one of the plush chairs near the fire, and I sit down and let my drink and the fire warm me up a little.

By the time I'm done my hot chocolate, Edward shows up with both Heidi and Demitri in tow. They've all got their gear packed up and are laughing about something that happened on their last run. It makes me a little jealous that I wasn't there to experience it, but I get over it when I remember what a good sport Edward had been all day with teaching me.

The muscles in my thighs are tight when I stand up, and I know that tomorrow isn't going to be good. Even though it didn't feel like it at all as the day went on, I know I've overworked them, and I'm going to be walking funny because of it. It sucks, because I really wanted to come back out here tomorrow—and every day of our stay here if possible—but now it might not even happen, unless I can find a way to get the muscles to relax.

Edward picks up on it as I make my way toward them, and he eyes me curiously.

"My thighs are a little sore," I explain. "No big."

"You sure?"

I nod. "Yeah. So, where are we going for dinner?"

"Actually," Heidi says excitedly, "there's this great little restaurant in the heart of downtown. The food is to die for."

"Cool," I reply. "We'll see you there, then."

"Awesome."

Heidi and Demitri grab all their gear, including the board they loaned me, and head to their vehicle, while Edward and I go to ours. We follow Heidi and Demitri out of the resort parking lot and into town centre until they pull up to the quaint little restaurant, and then we meet them inside.

Our hostess seats us and tells us that our server will be with us in a minute. While we wait, we peruse the menus and talk about our day. Edward goes on and on about how well I've done, and while I'm pretty proud of all that I'd learned, I think he might be over-exaggerating just a smidge.

Before I can tell him this, our server shows up to take our drink order. I'm just about to order an iced tea, when Edward pipes up. "Can we get a bottle of red wine and four glasses please?"

The server looks at Edward, then Heidi and Demitri, and finally me. Arching a brow, he says, "ID, please?"

My face heats up, and I look away, embarrassed that Edward tried to be sneaky and order me alcohol and we were caught anyway. "Oh, I actually don't think I have it on me," I lie. "Don't worry about i—"

Edward places a hand on my thigh. "Sweetheart, the legal drinking age here is nineteen."

Stunned, my eyes snap up to his. "What? Seriously?"

Chuckling, Edward's head bobs. "Yup. You're good."

Relieved and somewhat excited, I reach into my pocket and grab my ID, handing it to the server. He looks it over, smiles at me, and hands it back. "All right. I'll be right back with that wine and give you all another minute or two with your menus."

The conversation between the four of us dies as we decide what to order, so by the time our server returns, we've all made up our minds. Heidi and Demitri both order steak dinners with a baked potato and seasonal vegetables, Edward decides on a burger and fries, and I choose the rotisserie chicken with garlic-mashed potatoes and a side salad.

The ambiance of the restaurant is nice. It's a smaller place, probably family-owned, with dim overhead lighting and candles at every table. It's an intimate-looking place, and I feel like it should be weird that there are four of us at one table, but one look around tells me it's not that uncommon. There's a couple of families here, enjoying a night out with their kids, and several tables with what appears to be a couple groups of friends unwinding after a long day over a pitcher of beer.

"So, Bella," Demitri speaks up, "how did you and Edward meet?"

"Well, I was looking for a place to live after I left the dorms, and I happened across an ad in the paper," I explain.

Heidi looks a little confused, but Edward interjects. "I'd placed it because I was looking for someone who'd rent the room and be there to watch the place whenever I'm out of town. You know how crazy my schedule can get," he tells Heidi. "I'd never needed a roommate before because Irina was always there when I wasn't."

"Ah, right," Heidi says, raising her wine glass to her lips and taking a small pull. "Almost forgot about her. You haven't had the pleasure yet, have you, Bella?"

While I'd heard a little about Edward's ex—mainly about her clinginess and ultimatums—I'd asked very little because I didn't want to know who came before me. Ignorance is bliss and all. I shake my head. "Um, no."

"Lucky girl. Let's hope it stays that way."

The conversation quickly steers away from Edward's past girlfriends and back to how we wound up involved. Of course, Heidi and Demitri find our story hilarious—especially the part where I thought Edward and Emmett were a couple. The more I talk with Heidi and Demitri, the more I like them. I feel silly for being jealous of Edward's past with Heidi, especially after seeing just how in love she and Demitri are. Curious, I ask about the wedding, and she tells me that they're only in the beginning stages of planning but that we should expect an invitation in the mail once they're ready to go out.

After dinner—which was absolutely amazing—Edward and I say goodnight to Heidi and Demitri and tell them we'll probably be at the resort again the next day. Heidi agrees to meet us there and offers to bring her board for me again, even saying I'm more than welcome to borrow it for the remainder of my trip.

As we walk out to our vehicle, I can tell that the wine has relaxed me just enough that my legs aren't as sore as they were earlier. They still feel pretty tight, and the muscles in my back and arms are starting to feel the same way. I'm not looking forward to what tomorrow is going to bring.

When we arrive back at the cabin, Edward opens the front door and ushers me inside. After taking off our jackets and hanging them up, he turns up the heat and smiles. "Come on," he says, taking my hand and leading me for the stairs.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"You're probably going to be sore tomorrow from boarding, so I thought a nice, warm bath and a massage might help relax your muscles enough that it won't be as bad," he explains.

Smiling, I follow him upstairs. "Just when I thought today couldn't get any better."

He leads me into the bathroom and starts the bath. As the bathroom fills with warm fog, Edward helps me out of my clothes, my back muscles protesting when I raise my arms to remove my shirt. Once I'm naked, Edward follows suit and helps me into the tub first. I scoot forward so Edward can join me in the large tub, and he eases me back against him, rubbing my shoulders and then slipping a hand between us to massage the muscles in my lower back. I groan happily as some of the tension releases from my muscles, and Edward kisses the back of my neck lightly.

"So, you had a good day?" he whispers against my skin, making it prickle.

"Mmm hmm," I hum, finding myself incapable of speaking due to how amazing the massage feels.

He continues to press soft kisses against my shoulder, his scruff tickling my skin while his hands knead my stiff muscles and relax me further. His hands wander around from my back, gripping my hips briefly before moving toward my legs. He's on a mission, and my body is responding accordingly—until the minute his hands make contact with my thighs. He doesn't even press very hard, but even the slightest touch has me wincing, and he recoils immediately, removing his lips from my shoulder at the same time.

Leaning forward, I bend my right leg slightly and try to work out the kink. "Sorry," I say, glancing back over my shoulder. "I guess I'm a little more sore than I thought."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," he assures me, rubbing the length of my back soothingly. "I should have had us pack it in earlier today."

"No." I shift my body so I'm almost fully facing him. "It was fun. I'm glad we stayed the entire day. I just guess we won't be going tomorrow like I'd hoped."

I'm scared he's going to be disappointed, but am pleasantly surprised to see nothing but understanding in his eyes. "It's fine. There's plenty more we can do while we wait for your muscles to recover."

I giggle, swatting his chest playfully. "While I would love nothing more than to participate in whatever naughty scenario your filthy little mind has conjured up," I begin, "would you be too broken up if I asked for a rain check?"

Smiling, he shakes his head. "You know, I don't _only_ think about getting you naked." I give him a very pointed look that says _"yeah, right," _and he chuckles, running his damp fingers through his hair. "Okay, so maybe ninety percent of my thought process revolves around your tits and ass, but for ten percent of my day, I'm thinking of other things."

"Like?" I challenge.

He pauses, giving this some serious thought. "Okay, so maybe it's slightly more than ninety percent of my thought process." My laugh echoes in the bathroom. "Seriously, though," he continues, slipping one hand around my back, the other tenderly beneath my legs, and pulling me back toward him. "The second I noticed your legs were bothering you, the only thought on my mind was taking care of you tonight. Sex was so far off my radar that it wasn't even registering."

"Really?"

He rests his forehead against mine. "Really."

Sighing, I bring my right hand up to cup his cheek. "Seriously, you're too good to be true. Most men would probably feel pretty put out by this. But not you. You're the perfect boyfriend."

Edward exhales a nervous laugh. "Bella, I've already told you I'm far from perfect."

"Well," I whisper, "I have yet to see the proof that you're not, so I find it hard to believe otherwise."

"You ready to get out?" he asks quietly, and I nod.

Edward steps out of the tub first, wrapping a large towel around his waist before holding out his hands for mine and helping me out. He drapes a towel around my shoulders and runs his hands up and down my arms as he kisses me. "Come on." He nods toward the bedroom. "Let's go and get ready for bed."

On our way through the hall, I stop, suddenly remembering that I was going to surprise him with one of my new negligees tonight. He notices I'm not right behind him, and he turns around, eyeing me curiously. "Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

I scrunch my nose up, dissatisfied with this sucky turn of events. "I just realized that one of my holiday surprises has been compromised by all of this."

Edward's eyebrows lift, intrigued. "_Another_ holiday surprise? Do tell, Miss Swan," he urges. "Because if it's as good as the first . . ." His eyes travel down my towel-covered body, stopping at the shielded apex of my thighs before darting back up to mine.

I shrug, a coy smile playing at my lips. "Can't. We still have a few more nights here. I'll just have to find a time to squeeze them in. Starting tomorrow, perhaps."

Snatching his pajama bottoms off the end of the bed, Edward mock-pouts. "You're a tease."

Smirking, I grab my own pajamas, turn from him, and let my towel fall to the floor, giving him a full view of my backside. I can feel the heat of his stare on me, and I glance back at him. "Yeah, but you love it a little."

Laughing, Edward flips the blankets back before rushing out of the room and adjusting the temperature once more while I finish changing. When he returns, we both crawl into bed, and Edward draws me into his side, kissing the top of my head. "Goodnight, Bella."

Sighing, I curl my fingers into his t-shirt. "Goodnight."

While I'd had other things in mind regarding how to spend our evening, I have to admit that it really didn't turn out half bad. Edward and I'd had a wonderful day full of firsts for me, and I couldn't wait to see what the rest of the vacation had in store for us.

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><p><strong>AN2: So, there's chapter 28. Chapter 29 is almost done, so it should be posted in a week :)<strong>

**What did you think of Bella's first time boarding? I've only been a couple of times, and my sister was my coach, so I went by what she told me. It should go without saying that the instructions in this chapter may or may not be what a licensed boarding instructor would say/use. ;)**

**What's up next in Whistler for our vacationers? What would you guys like to see happen?**

**PLEASE leave me a review and let me know what you thought! I'm going to go back to sending out teasers, so review, and you'll get one (as long as it's not an anonymous review ;))**


	29. Unexpected

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**A belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all! I'm sorry for the delay in posting, but this holiday season proved to be more hectic than years' past. I hope you'll all forgive me :)**

**I've made it a resolution of sorts to get back to replying to each and every review I receive. I kind of sucked at it this year, and I used to be so good about it. Time to get back to my FF roots :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 29. Unexpected<strong>

After Bella's first day of boarding, I knew she'd be in rough shape the following day. Unlike a lot of beginners, she didn't want to pack it in after the first half of our day, and I both admired and respected her decision. I won't lie and say that I wouldn't have liked to have been on one of the more advanced trails a little more that day, but teaching her how to snowboard was more than worth that small sacrifice. Besides, she was picking it up much faster than I'd have thought, so I was certain we'd be on one of the bigger trails by the end of our vacation.

Not that next day, however.

The bath I'd drawn when we'd returned back home helped release some of the stiffness in her muscles, but I already knew we wouldn't be hitting the slopes until the next day. At least.

She couldn't apologize enough for over-doing it on our first day, and I had to assure her that I wasn't upset. To be honest, I think she was more disappointed than I was, which could only mean she loved the sport as much as I did. The only thing I was disappointed about was not getting another one of the surprises Bella had for me. I wasn't lying when I told Bella that sex was the furthest thing from my mind after seeing her uncomfortable, but when I learned that she'd had plans for us . . . well, I was more than mildly intrigued.

Because we had realized the night before that boarding was out of the question, I got out of bed, turned the heat up in the cabin, and went back to bed with Bella. We decided to take advantage of the fact that neither of us had to be anywhere and slept the morning away. Normally, "staying in bed" is a pretty standard euphemism for "had sex all morning," but not that morning.

Not going to the resort and relaxing around the cabin is actually going to be nice. While we didn't spend the entire day with Heidi yesterday, the entire point of this vacation was for Bella and me to have some time alone. While my relationship with Heidi is purely professional, and having heard Bella's initial insecurities about her, I don't plan to force them together every day. I'm not a total asshat. It wasn't like I planned to run into Heidi, either. Yes, I knew she lived here, but I didn't expect our paths to cross.

By the time we crawl out of bed, it's after noon. Bella's muscles are still a little stiff, but she assures me she feels better than she expected given how tight they were last night. I offer her some ibuprofen in hopes that it'll help her out, and we have a shower together—also a pretty standard euphemism for "shower sex" where the two of us are concerned, but alas, it just isn't in the cards—before heading downstairs to make lunch. While we eat, I suggest an afternoon stroll since the weather's not so bad. Bella seems up to the idea, and after cleaning up the kitchen, we grab our jackets and gloves and head outside.

The air is still a little frigid, but the heat of the sun helps to ease its bite—even if only a little. I lead Bella toward the trails I've been familiar with for as long as I can remember, and we talk about yesterday and what the rest of our day has in store for us.

"I'm sorry I went overboard yesterday," she apologizes again—which is ridiculous, if you ask me.

"It's fine," I assure her. "I should have been paying closer attention. Besides, we have another five nights here to make up for it . . ." I lean in and kiss the spot below her ear. "And I plan to take full advantage of that fact."

Bella laughs. "I'm sure you do."

My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I grab it, just in case it's some kind of emergency back home. One look at the screen tells me it's not, though. It's my ex. Irina.

I'm not sure why she's trying to call me, and honestly, I don't really care. I'm on vacation, so whatever it is she has to say can wait. She probably realized she'd forgotten something at the house. I hit ignore on my phone and slip it back into my pocket.

"Who was it?" Bella asks.

I don't know why I do it—to save the awkwardness of telling her my ex was calling me, maybe?—but I lie. "Wrong number." My phone vibrates in my pocket again, this time only once, indicating that I've got a new voicemail. I don't acknowledge it, though, because I don't want anything to upset Bella during our stay here. If meeting Heidi made her feel insecure, I can only imagine how my talking to Irina will make her feel.

We walk for a little over an hour before returning to the cabin. Bella is going to head inside when I stop her at the foot of the stairs. "Where are you going?"

She uses her thumb to point over her shoulder at the house. "I thought we were going inside?"

Laughing, I shake my head. "It's snowman-building time, sweetheart. The snow is perfect for it today."

Bella smiles and practically bounds back over to me. "Okay," she agrees. "Let's do this."

I start working on the bottom ball of snow while Bella starts on the middle. Because I like a challenge, I've decided that we need to try and make the biggest snowman we can manage. There's not much snow left in the front yard by the time we gather up all we need, so the matted brown grass that's poking through in patches is less than appealing, but it's set to snow later this evening, which should recover the yard again.

By the time we get to the head, I struggle to put it into place atop the middle snowball which stands two feet taller than I do. I eventually succeed, though, before I run inside for a carrot from the fridge, a spare hat, scarf, and mittens (reserved for just this activity), and return back outside. Bella has scrounged up two large sticks for the snowman's arms, some large and small rocks for its eyes and mouth. We put his arms on, add his mittens, and then wrap his scarf around his neck.

Bella seems perplexed as to how we're going to put the hat and face on our masterpiece, until I kneel in the snow and tell her to get on my shoulders. Laughing, Bella complies, and I stand us up. We're now taller than the snowman, and Bella puts his hat on, places his nose in the middle of his face, and adds his eyes and smile. When she finishes, I kneel again and let her hop off of my shoulders.

We stand back and admire our handiwork before I decide we need to document it. "Hey," I say, reaching for my phone. "Go stand by the snowman. I want a picture."

Nodding, she runs over to it and poses while I snap the picture. Once I've got it, I instantly use it as my screensaver—yes, I've become _that_ guy—and I suggest we go inside for some hot apple cider. We hang our jackets in the coat closet before heading for the kitchen.

"Have a seat," I tell her, pulling one of the island stools out for her. She complies while I round the island and grab everything I'll need. After pouring the apple juice into a pot and putting it on the stove, I bring the rest of the ingredients back to the island so Bella and I can talk while I prepare everything.

"How are your muscles?" I ask, hoping that our long walk today helped loosen them.

"Good, actually," she replies. "There's still a little discomfort, but it's really not that bad." Bella leans forward and watches raptly as I cut an orange into quarter-inch slices and cut an apple in half. I then begin to carefully insert the cloves into the flesh and peel of the apple. "Your mom teach you this?"

I nod. "Making apple cider with my mother as a child is one of my favourite memories. Her recipe is actually one of the best I've ever had." Once the fruit is prepped, I add half of a cup of brown sugar to my heated apple juice and stir it until it's dissolved.

"Smells good," Bella says from behind me as the smell of sweet apples permeates the air.

Smiling, I turn around and grab my cutting board. "Just wait." I put the fruit into the pot, followed by two sticks of cinnamon, half a teaspoon of nutmeg, and half a teaspoon of allspice. I bring the pot to a simmer for fifteen minutes, and then promptly remove the apples, oranges, and cinnamon sticks before ladling some into two mugs. I put a fresh cinnamon stick into each one, pick up the mugs, and silently suggest with a nod that we head to the living room.

We're just getting settled when my phone vibrates in my pocket again. Setting my cider on the end table, I grab my phone and see that I've got a new text message. From Irina.

_I need to talk to you._

"Popular today, huh?" Bella says, bringing her mug to her lips and blowing before taking a sip.

I delete the message because I have no intention of talking to Irina. True, we didn't have a messy breakup, but I didn't want to hear what she had to say. She wasn't too open to the idea of our breakup initially and tried several times to rekindle our romance. While I'm not entirely proud of it, I slipped up twice: once in September and another time toward the end of October.

The only reason I can think of that she would be calling is that with the holiday season upon us, she's lonely.

I turn my phone off and set it down on the table, retrieve my cider, and turn to Bella, not about to let Irina interfere with our holiday. "It's nothing that can't wait."

Bella eyes me curiously, but then shakes it off and takes another sip. "This is really good, by the way."

"Thank you." I take a drink. "So, I was thinking maybe we could go out and get you your own gear before going to the resort again." Her eyebrow arches questioningly. "Or we can rent."

"But I thought . . .?"

"We shouldn't be spending our entire vacation with Heidi," I explain.

Bella drops her eyes to where her mug rests in her lap. "It's okay. I don't mind." Her voice is soft, almost inaudible.

I chuckle lightly and place my forefinger under her chin, coaxing her eyes to mine. "Yes you do. Even if just a little."

"Okay, so maybe I mind a little." She sighs heavily. "It's not that she's not lovely—she is—and I've been trying not to let things get awkward between us."

"I know. And I honestly never thought that we'd see her. Running into her was purely coincidental."

Bella nods. "I believe you."

"This was supposed to be our time together, and I'm going to salvage the rest of our vacation starting right now. From this moment on, it's all about us."

Bella's smile widens, and she leans forward, pressing her lips to mind softly. "Okay. As long as you realize it's not me making the demand."

I can't believe I didn't see this for what it was from the beginning: she's worried that I'll compare her to Irina. And, honestly, after everything I've told her about my ex's ultimatums, I can't blame her. Leaning forward, I kiss her again. "Understood." I pause for a minute, giving her a sly side-eyed look. "So, you'll let me buy you new boarding equipment?"

She seems somewhat caught off guard. "Oh no. I can't let you buy me equipment. This trip was more than enough."

"You forget, all I had to pay for was the airfare, and it really wasn't that bad since I had some frequent flyer miles to cash in," I explain. "But, if it makes you feel better, I'll let you pay me back. I just don't want to leave you without money to get by."

She contemplates this for a minute before nodding slowly. "Okay. I'll let you pay for it now, but I'll pay you back." Her eyes meet mine, resolute. "Every penny."

Even though buying her new equipment is something I would love to do, I know that Bella's fiercely independent, so I accept her terms. "You've got a deal. But take as long as you need," I repeat. "I really don't want you to be stressing about money, okay?"

Smiling like the cat that ate the canary, she nods. "You bet."

Since it's still early in the day, Bella and I head into town soon after finishing our cider. As the day wears on, her muscles are loosening up more and more, so she's confident she'll be feeling up to boarding again. While I want that more than anything, I'm not going to get my hopes up; the ibuprofen could very well be masking any residual pain.

When we get to the sporting goods store, I lead Bella right for the snowboarding equipment and let her pick. While she peruses her options, I explain to her what it is she's looking for. "You need to take your ability level into account when choosing a board," I explain, watching her run her fingers over a sleek black board with a bright blue design. "Because you'll want one more fitted to a beginner or intermediate skill level, this won't be your last board."

"Okay," Bella says, moving on to view the next board.

"You'll also want to look at the width of the board." She nods, listening to what I'm telling her. "Your board shouldn't be too much wider than your boots. If they extend over the edges too far, then you run the risk of them hitting the snow during hard turns, resulting in a wipeout."

"So I should pick boots first, right?" Shrugging, she turns to me. "I mean, if sizing is anything like how regular shoe companies operate, then they could be different."

I agree without pause. "You're exactly right."

Together, we head toward the boots, and Bella tries on several pairs before deciding on some. Once she's got them, we revisit the boards, and she eyes several. As she's inspecting them, she notices that some of them have more curve than others, and that a few of them curve up while others curve down or are flat. I explain the different riding styles, and explain how board length plays into that. Since we have no intentions of entering the pro-circuit any time soon, I explain that Bella would be fine with any board suited to an All-Mountain style, as that's what I have and what she borrowed from Heidi, and then I move onto explaining the different board curves—or _rockers_.

"The ones that curve upward are _cambered_ boards," I explain, pulling a board and showing her the upward bow to the wood. "It's the most traditional style of board, and is most popular because it will offer the most energy and pop. It has a smooth arch underfoot and touches near the tip and tail when unweighted. When the rider's weight is added, it will provide a long, evenly pressured running surface and edge."

Bella nods along, absorbing everything I tell her, and I move along to the next board. "This one is a _rocker _board," I tell her, running my hand along the downward curve of the board. "These boards float well in powder and pivot more easily underfoot. They also tend to be less _hooky_ at both the tip and tail, which makes them better for landing spin maneuvers when you can't get enough rotation."

Bella laughs, the sound travelling throughout the busy sporting goods store. "Well, I don't anticipate attempting any spin maneuvers, so we're probably safe to move on."

Finally, I grab a flat board and hold it out. "The flat board is pretty self-explanatory, being flat from tip to tail. This shape splits the difference between camber and rocker styles." Bella's eyebrows knit together with curiosity, and I continue. "Its turnability is more forgiving than a fully cambered board, and has more precise edging capabilities than a fully rockered one."

"Soooo . . ." Bella draws out the word, and I chuckle.

"You'll probably want to consider either a cambered board or a flat one," I offer. "The cambered ones are the favoured style," I remind her.

Bella considers everything I've told her before deciding on a cambered style. We spend the next couple of hours in the store, finding all the right gear and accessories, and then head to the checkout counter to make our purchase. While I don't flinch when the cashier rings everything in and gives us our total, Bella inhales sharply, clearly shocked by how much money we just spent.

"No rush, sweetheart," I remind her as I hand the woman behind the till my credit card. "Take your time paying it back."

After paying, we load everything into our vehicle, folding one of the back seats down to accommodate the board, and head back to the cabin. It doesn't take long for Bella's apprehensions about the price to dissipate and her excitement to take over.

"So, we're going back to the resort tomorrow, right?" she asks, her eyes alight with joy.

Keeping my eyes on the snow and ice-covered roads, I nod. "So long as you're feeling up to it," I assure her. "I don't want you to overdo it."

"I feel fine."

"Then I don't see why not."

Back at the cabin, I haul Bella's board inside while she brings the rest of her gear in, and we set it all next to mine before heading for the kitchen to start dinner. Bella and I work harmoniously in the kitchen—as we always do—to prepare our dinner. While I work on slicing the vegetables for the stew, my phone vibrates against my thigh for the umpteenth time today. And, just like every other time I see Irina's name flash across the screen, I ignore the call and set the phone down on the counter. Face down.

"You know," Bella says with an air of humour in her voice. "It could be important."

"Doubtful," I tell her, knowing that Irina is likely just lonely and looking for some familiarity over the holidays.

Bella shrugs. "The fact that your phone's been practically ringing off the hook this afternoon suggests otherwise." She locks her expressive brown eyes on mine. "I get that you're trying to be the perfect boyfriend and not let anything interfere with our winter getaway, but you can take a phone call or two." Smiling, she reaches past me and takes my phone, holding it out to me. "In fact, I'm going to call Mom and Dad, so why don't you take the opportunity to call whoever it was back."

Nervous, I take my cell phone from her, swallowing thickly, and nod. I have absolutely no intention of calling Irina back, but I can at least check my messages. There's no harm in that, right?

Happy, Bella grabs the cordless phone off the counter and heads for the living room, instructing me to add the vegetables to the stew as soon as I'm done slicing them. Once they've been added, I dial my voicemail and listen to the first message.

"_Hey, Edward . . . It's Irina."_ Her voice wavers slightly, and I feel right in my assumption that she is just looking for a warm body to get her through the holidays._ "I tried calling the house—I even stopped by—but you weren't there. Can you call me back? I really need to talk to you."_

I delete the message, moving onto the next.

"_Me again. I know it was probably out of line, but I called your parents' place, thinking maybe you'd be there since it's Christmas-time and all, and they said you were up in Whistler with your new girlfriend." _She sighs despondently. "_Look, I know you probably don't want to talk to me, and that's fine, but we _really_ need to talk. I don't want to do this over your answering machine, so please, Edward, just call me back as soon as you get this."_

Do what? I silently wonder, deleting the message and moving onto the final one.

"_Maybe you just have your phone turned off—you are on vacation, after all." _Any and all sadness that was in her voice seems to have disappeared. Now she sounds slightly annoyed. _"While this was the last thing I wanted to do, I figured you should know . . ."_ There's a brief pause, and I'm certain I can hear her take a deep breath and exhale it slowly. _"I'm pregnant, Edward. About ten weeks. Call me . . . _Please_." _

The words hit me hard, my stomach rolling with unease, and the hand holding the phone to my ear falls to the counter with a soft thud. I'm not sure how to process what I've just heard. The heavy sound of my pulse fills my ears, my vision darkens, and my chest tightens and heaves with the threat of an anxiety attack.

What do I do?

Bella's laughter fills the cabin, and my eyes snap in her direction instantly. I find her relaxed and happy on the couch, the phone pressed to her ear as she talks to her parents, and I find myself presented with a whole new problem:

What do I _say_?

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><p><strong>AN2: Well, shit . . .<strong>

**I know this doesn't look good. Will it help if I tell you that I already have ch30 started and that I don't intend to drag this out over more than 1-2 chapters? Oh, and that (as 99.9% of my stories have proven) I obviously plan for a HEA? God, I hope so!**

**Leave me a review and tell me what you thought-good or bad! All reviews will get a teaser for ch30!**


	30. Snapping Back to Reality

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**Now, before we begin this chapter, I feel I need to preface it with a brief timeline. I meant to include it at the end of ch29, but just plain forgot. A lot of you think that much more time has passed—and that's likely due in large part to the fact that I've been writing this story for almost a year. In "reality" only a month and a half has passed. Bella moved into the house in mid-November, so she and Edward have only been together for just over a month. Edward did NOT cheat on her, as a few of you thought when he slept with Irina, as he didn't even know Bella at the time.**

**Hope that helps to assuage you guys :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 30. Snapping Back to Reality<strong>

The last few days of our vacation in Whistler have been mostly amazing. I say "mostly" because Edward seems to be acting a bit off. It concerns me, because he's acting almost anxious about whatever is on his mind.

I first notice it the night we return from buying my first snowboard. Earlier that afternoon, he'd ignored a couple of phone calls, and while I'd believed him when he told me it was a wrong number, the fact that his phone kept ringing has me believing otherwise. It's possible he doesn't know who's calling, but my guess is that he just doesn't want to take the focus off of our vacation by talking to whoever it is. Either way, I know that whoever it is won't leave us alone unless he speaks with them.

Maybe telling him to make that call is a mistake on my part.

When I finish talking to Mom and Dad, I find Edward sitting on one of the island stools and staring at me, his eyebrows furrowed. Concerned, I set the phone on the end table and rush over to him. My first thought is that something has happened to one of his parents, but he is quick to assure me they're fine. Then I wonder if something has happened with work—maybe something bad happened to a client, or to Emmett, or to Rose . . . He once again lays my fears to rest.

Unable to figure out what could possibly be causing worry lines this prominent across his forehead, I prod for information. He offers me a smile. It's weak, but it's familiar and his. He seems reluctant to say much, though, his hands gripping my hips and his eyes burning into mine.

"You know I love you, right?" he says, and my stomach twists. And not in that good, excited way, but in an impending doom kind of way.

"I do," I reply softly, my eyebrows now mirroring his. "And I love you." I pause, trying to read the expression on his face, the fear in his eyes. "What's going on?"

His mouth opens and closes a few times, but he seems to be having trouble finding the words, and he looks panicked, his chest beginning to heave. In an effort to calm him down, I place my hand along his jaw and smile calmly, moving my thumb idly over his cheek. "Hey," I whisper softly, "it's okay. If you're not ready to talk about it, that's fine. Just know that I'm here, okay?"

His head moves slowly, nodding his understanding, before he throws his arms around me and pulls me to him. His hands splay across my back, holding me firm against his body, and I can feel his racing heart against my chest as he lays his head flat against my chest. He's scaring me, but I try to keep calm; to be there for him when he's ready to talk about it.

He doesn't talk about it that night—not over dinner or when we sit in front of the fire and have a glass of wine—but the tension in his forehead seems to lessen slightly. I can see his mind still wanders to whatever it is occasionally, but he snaps out of it any time I lay my hand over his.

While I want to know what's bothering him more than anything in the world—partly due to curiosity, but mostly because I want to help him in whatever way I can—I won't pressure him. What's important is that he knows I'm here for him in whatever way he needs.

We go to bed after finishing our second glass of wine, and I decide to try to keep Edward from worrying in one of the best ways I know how. Sure, sex isn't how I want to distract him from whatever's going on, but I don't want him stressing about it anymore tonight. Maybe he'll be ready to talk about it in the morning. Maybe.

I excuse myself to go to the washroom to change into one of my new negligees, and when I return to the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to be seductive, I find Edward changing into his flannel pants and t-shirt. He pulls the down comforter back and looks up at me expectantly, like he's waiting for me to hop into bed before he joins me, and his eyes go wide. They roam up and down my body, taking in the soft white colour against my only-slightly tanned skin.

"You like?" I ask with a coy smirk, pushing myself off the doorframe and crossing the room, barefoot.

Speechless, he sits heavily on the bed, his gaze following me as I step closer, stopping right in front of him. "You look incredible," he rasps breathlessly, focusing a little too intently on how the skimpy outfit pushes my breasts up and in.

I take a tiny step forward, nudging his knees apart, and his hands come up to ensnare my hips, his thumbs sliding over the sheer fabric, forcing it to ride up my thighs slightly. Bringing my right hand up, I place it on his jaw and coax his eyes to mine. "I love you," I tell him again. "Whatever is going on with you . . ." I pause, offering him a warm, loving smile. "Know that I'm here for you. Whenever you're ready to talk about it, okay? We'll get through it. Together."

No sooner have the words left my mouth before Edward pulls me roughly onto his lap and kisses me deeply. There's a certain desperation haloing the passion of his kiss, his hands pressing against my back and holding me close to his body, but I don't question it. If this is what he needs, then I will be here for him. It's not really much of a sacrifice.

I drape my arms over his shoulders, my hands creeping down his spine and tugging his shirt up until we're forced to stop kissing. We're both breathing heavily, trying to replenish our oxygen, as I yank his shirt from his body and toss it to the floor. Edward's widespread hands move down my back, over my hips, and beneath the thin sheath of fabric until he's palming my ass over my barely-there pair of white satin underwear. He pulls me toward him, and I feel his erection press between my legs. With a ripple of pleasure travelling through my body, I moan, locking eyes with him and lowering my face back to his to kiss him softly.

Slowly, Edward shifts our bodies until I'm lying back on the bed, my head resting on the fluffy pillows, and he's pressed between my thighs, his hands exploring my upper body and stopping when he reaches my breasts. My nipples harden under his ministrations, and another shudder rocks through my body, forcing me to tighten my thighs around him, pulling him closer.

Edward growls, his mouth travelling down my jaw and over my neck and collarbone while deftly and blindly releasing the first few hidden hooks holding my nightie together at once. He continues this movement, his head following his hand—lips kissing, tongue licking, and teeth nipping at each patch of newly-exposed flesh. Once the last hook has been released from its eyelet, Edward pushes the sheer fabric open and sits up, his lust-filled eyes taking in the sight before him while his hands continue to wander over every inch of my heated skin. The look in his eyes is so intense, almost like he's committing the sight and feel of me to memory.

"Make love to me," I whisper, my voice low and raspy with desire, digging my heels into his ass and guiding him forward.

Edward loops his fingers into my underwear at the hips and pulls it down, coaxing my legs momentarily from around him so he can remove them entirely. Once they've been added to the growing pile of clothes next to the bed, he removes his own pants and boxers before taking his place back between my thighs. I feel the tip of his erection tease my entrance, but before he plunges inside me, he leans over and grabs a condom from the bedside table.

True, we've made love a few times without one, but for the most part, he's still very careful to use one. While I'm not worried about getting pregnant due to the accuracy rate of my chosen method of birth control, I can understand his wanting to take that extra precaution.

I watch his hands with anticipation, my lower body pulsing with need, and I'm shocked to see his hands trembling slightly. He struggles slightly with the foil packet, and I can see the frustration etched on his face. Finally, I sit up, my lingerie falling off my arms, and reach out, placing my hand over his and taking the condom from him. I open it and put it in place, my eyes locking with his as I slowly roll it down his length. Once it's on, Edward pulls me onto his lap, snaking one arm between us as he guides me down onto him and then removing it to wrap around my body as I begin to move above him.

One of his hands weaves into the length of my hair, our eyes still locked, and the other squeezes my ass, pulling me against him roughly on every one of my downward thrusts. I feel my orgasm beginning to build, my muscles starting to tighten and coil, and just before it bursts forward, Edward presses his forehead to mine. "I love you, Bella," he says breathlessly, pulling my hips harder and faster.

"Oh god, Edward," I pant, curling my fingers into the skin of his back. "I love you, too."

And then we fall into the chasm of our mutual release, collapsing back onto the mattress, sweaty and breathless. Edward keeps our bodies close, his fingers ghosting over the shape of my body, travelling down my arm and thigh before moving back up over my ass, hips, and waist. Goosebumps arise, and I giggle softly, turning to kiss his neck and inhaling his intoxicating and musky post-sex scent.

Once our hearts have returned to their normal pace, Edward kisses my forehead and excuses himself to use the washroom first. When he returns, I force myself out of bed and grab my flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt before wandering out into the hall myself. When I return to the bedroom, Edward is already beneath the covers and waiting for me. Smiling, I join him, curling up against him and laying my head on his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart until sleep begins to set in.

"Goodnight," I breathe against Edward's chest. My arms and feet feel heavy, and my eyelids close as I enter the first stages of sleep.

"Goodnight, love," he replies softly, and I feel nothing but contentment as I drift further and further into unconsciousness, the first of my dreams starting to take shape in my mind.

Through the haze of my dream-state, I'm unsure what's real and what's not, but I'm far too gone to question anything. Even when I hear a far off whispered voice say, "God, I hope you can forgive me . . ."

**::: Rw/aV :::**

As promised, Edward takes me to the resort the next day. I'm extremely excited to use all of my new equipment—even if the price of it still shocks the hell out of me. If I hadn't fallen in love with the sport that first day, though, I'd think it was a bad investment, but I'm fairly certain that I'll get a lot of use out of it.

Well, only if Edward and I come out here every year, I suppose. There's not a lot of skiing to be done in Arizona. Though, I suppose we'd have to rent a place or book a room at one of the lodges since his parents plan to sell the cabin come spring. It sucks, because I've grown so fond of this place.

He still seems preoccupied with whatever is going on with him, but I don't pressure him to talk about it. Even though he's obviously troubled about it, he's sure to make me feel like this vacation is all about us. He's constantly telling me how much he loves me, kissing me, holding me close . . . He's always been pretty affectionate, but even this seems to be a little more than normal for him. Some part of me wonders—and only for a brief moment—what's brought it on. While I don't normally question his affection, there's something about it that seems to be borne out of guilt. I ask myself if he's just overcompensating because he's afraid that he's going to be—or has been—too distracted and maybe he feels the need to make up for it . . . or has he actually done something to feel guilty about?

Laughing at myself, I shake off that last thought because Edward isn't Jake. He'd never do anything to intentionally hurt me, and I know it's just my past insecurities that are making me question this small behavioural change.

Considering it's only my second day, I do better out on the slopes, and Edward and I even hit a more intermediate trail. I fall down, of course, and I also hit a few sad excuses for jumps—they're really just tiny snowdrifts or packed down snow—that drop me flat on my ass when I can't land them. Given how small they are, it's humiliating, but all part of the learning curve. Unsurprisingly, Edward makes it all look so effortless, and he assures me that I'm doing really well. I'm pretty sure he's just trying to make me feel better.

The next day, New Years Eve, Edward has plans that he seems pretty excited about. Apparently there's a yearly celebration where families come out for music, crafts, food, dancing . . . and ice skating.

It shouldn't, but I'm a little surprised when I manage to do better with ice-skating than I did snowboarding. Now, I'm still not skating circles around him or anything—not many people are, to be honest—but I manage to hold my own, even though it's been well over ten years since I've been ice-skating in one of the indoor arenas that Phoenix has. While I'm obviously a little rusty, Edward, naturally, excels at it. Jerk.

What makes this a memory I know I'll treasure for years is that the arena is outdoors. The chilly winter air only adds to the experience, and we're having a great time as the night wears on. Surprisingly, I've only almost fallen a couple of times—which my tailbone continuously thanks me for—and, after about thirty minutes, it starts to snow lightly. Everything about this night out—being with Edward, the cool evening air, the snow falling almost whimsically, the music—is absolutely beautiful, and it's only made a little more perfect when the countdown begins and Edward and I share our first kiss of the new year.

We're standing in the middle of the rink, surrounded by what feels like hundreds of people—some on the ice, others just off to the side—and everyone is counting down, waiting for the stroke of midnight. When the time comes, fireworks boom overhead, and Edward turns me to face him, placing his gloved fingers beneath my chin and tilting my face up to his, but before capturing my lips, he smiles. I don't fail to notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. It hasn't for the last few days. I'm still waiting for him to talk to me, and I can tell he wants to, but something stops him. Fear, from what I can tell. Of what, though? I wish I knew.

"Happy New Year, sweetheart," he says, Auld Lang Syne playing loudly as the fireworks continue to light up the night sky.

Stepping up onto the picks of my skates, I wrap my arms around his neck and smile. "Happy New Year," I reply. "I can't wait to see what the next year has in store for us."

Something flashes in his eyes, but it's gone before I can question it, and he's lowering his lips to mine. They're soft and warm, even with the winter chill in the air, and he kisses me with so much love that it takes my breath away.

Breathing heavily as we break apart, I'm able to see our breath in the frigid night air. I lower back onto the blades of my skates, sliding back a little and losing my balance. Edward's quick to steady me with a chuckle, all earlier worry gone from his glimmering eyes.

"Come on," he says, tucking me into his side as we skate for the arena exit. "We've got an early fight in the morning."

The reminder that this is our last night here saddens me. While it's been a more than memorable experience, I know that it's time to return to reality. Edward has to get back to work the day after tomorrow, and I have to go back to school.

By the time we return to the cabin, it's almost one in the morning, and Edward suggests we head straight to bed since we have to be up early to pack and head to the airport. Up in our room, I grab my pyjamas and toss them on the end of the bed before I begin to undress. I've just grabbed the hem of my sweater when Edward steps up behind me and covers my hands with his, taking over and pulling the soft fabric off my body.

I shiver when he pulls my hair from my neck, and I sigh when his lips touch down on the goosebump-riddled skin of my shoulder. Warmth blooms beneath my skin, pushing out any remnants of cold that remained only moments ago. Pleasure trickles through my body and down my limbs, making the tips of my fingers and toes tingle—at least, I hope it's the pleasure causing it and not the onset of frostbite. That would suck.

Edward undoes my jeans, sliding his hand behind the denim and beneath the hips of my underwear and inching them down my thighs. I wriggle once they reach my knees, forcing them to slowly pool around my ankles, and then I step out of them, removing my socks with my feet—not an easy task, by the way. Naked, I turn to face Edward, looking up in his eyes as I rid him of his clothing. He watches me, his eyes registering his love for me, and then he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the ground, carrying me to the bed and lowering me gently.

He grabs a condom from the drawer and eases himself between my thighs, leaning on his forearms to keep the majority of his weight off of me. His chest is flush with mine, though, and I can feel his heart beating steadily as he lowers his lips to mine, causing my pulse to quicken. He kisses me softly, bringing his hand up to stroke the side of my face lovingly. Shifting his hips slowly, his erection teases me, moving back and forth and driving me wild.

Unable to take it anymore, I bring my legs up, urging him forward, but he stops, sitting up to put the condom on before we go any further. It's been a few days since I've felt him inside of me without a latex barrier between us, and, while I miss it, I get it. He's probably afraid we'll get so swept up in the moment and forget. It's happened before, so it's a valid fear.

His hands are steadier this time around, and he has no trouble with the task before pressing himself back between my legs and slowly entering me. Pleasure engulfs me, my skin prickling from head to toe, and when my eyes meet Edward's again, I'm lost in a sea of green.

In the weeks that we've been together, we've had sex with wild abandon, opening my eyes to new experiences and the possibilities of our future together. We've also shared sweet, tender moments where I've never felt more loved or special.

But this time is different.

Edward moves slowly above me, but the way he looks at me is so intense that it moves me . . . but it also worries me. There's love there—I'm not concerned about that—but there's something else. Something I'm not sure I can pinpoint . . . something _more_.

More loving. More attentive.

His right hand trails down my body, his eyes following hungrily, and he hooks his fingers behind my knee, hitching my leg up higher around his hips as he thrusts forward. His hand skims over the skin of my thigh, our hips slowly rolling in tandem as my release slowly builds until the surface of my skin tingles and hums. My eyes close and my teeth tug on my bottom lip as I get completely lost in the passion that fills the room like fog.

I'm close . . . _so_ close . . .

Then his hips slow, and when I open my eyes again, I see him staring at me once more. He cradles my face gently, urging my face toward his and moulding his lips to mine. The kiss deepens quickly, our hips finding their previous rhythm, and my fingers curl into Edward's back. My orgasm continues to coil, tightening in every part of my body with each forward thrust of Edward's hips until it releases and I cry out against his lips. Any and all of my energy in my body shoots through the tips of my fingers and toes, my arms and legs trembling in the wake, and soon Edward's body stiffens as he groans, his hands gripping me firmly through the final stages of his own climax.

He rests his head against my collarbone, his warm breath wafting over my damp skin, and sighs. A lazy smile spreads across my face, my hand trembling as I raise it from his back and run my tingling fingers through his soft hair. After a moment, our breathing regulates, and my legs stop shaking, making it easier to walk down the hall to the washroom after getting off the bed.

It's late by the time Edward and I are both back in bed, and he pulls me into his arms, my back resting against his chest. He holds me tight, pressing his lips to the base of my neck. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispers. "I love you."

Sighing, I lace my fingers through his. "I love you, too," I reply softly.

I feel his lips curl up into a smile against my skin. "Let's get some sleep. Six o'clock will come far too soon."

And, with that, I snuggle back into his embrace, close my eyes, and we fall asleep.

**::: Rw/aV :::**

Our flight isn't until noon, but we have a lot of packing and cleaning to do before we leave the cabin. I assist Edward with covering the furniture, and we load the bags into the vehicle before leaving a note for the housekeeper that Edward's mother hires to come out to the place after they've vacationed.

As we pull away, I stare at the cabin, missing it already.

Our flight is on time, and neither of us fails to notice the wide grins of the two female flight attendants on the plane as they check our tickets. What are the chances we'd get the same ones as our flight here?

To most? Probably one in a couple hundred. For me? Yeah, this seems about right.

I rest my head on Edward's shoulder for most of the flight as we watch TV on the back of the seat in front of him. He's quiet again, and every time I spare a glance in his direction, I can tell he's not entirely focused on the show. Every day that passes and he doesn't tell me what's going on, the closer I am to flat-out asking. I want to give him the space he needs to figure things out, but I'm worried that we'll grow apart.

The plane lands a few minutes ahead of schedule, and Edward and I collect our bags from the luggage carousel before heading outside where our town car is waiting for us. In comparison to Whistler, the weather is hot—like, I'm wearing far too many layers _hot. _I take off my jacket and drape it over my arm as the driver helps us put our bags in the trunk, and then we're on our way home.

Edward's phone rings, but after looking at the screen, he ignores the call and shoves it back in his pocket. It seems to have agitated him, though, because his knee begins to bounce nervously the rest of trip. I pretend not to notice. For now. I'll wait until we get home, and then I'm going to make him tell me what's wrong. Or, at least I'll try.

When we arrive home, I find myself smiling. While I'd had a wonderful time on our winter getaway, it's nice to be back home. Back to our normal routine.

The driver removes our bags from the trunk, Edward tips him, and we lug them up the front steps and inside. Edward disarms the security system and locks the front door while I kick off my shoes and put them away. It takes a minute, but I finally notice that all of the Christmas decorations have been taken down.

"My mom probably came over and cleaned up while we were away," Edward explains, sensing what I was thinking. "Come on. Let's go put our things away."

I trek up the stairs after Edward, and when we turn the corner down the hall, he hands me my suitcase and we go our separate ways into our bedrooms. I hoist the heavy bag onto my bed and unzip it, preparing to toss my dirty laundry in my hamper and put my clean stuff away when there's a knock on my door.

I turn around to see Edward standing there, and he offers me a very slight smile. "Hey," I say. "You must've set a new world record for unpacking."

He steps into my room, almost sombrely. No, not _almost_; that's definitely the gait of a sombre person. "I, uh . . . Can we talk?"

My stomach rolls when his tone registers in my brain, and my legs threaten to give out. Thankfully, I'm right next to my bed, so I place my hand on the mattress and lower myself to sit down. "O-okay," I stammer, wondering if he's ready to talk about what's been bothering him. The sound of his voice would suggest so, but it also sounds like whatever it is has the potential to break my heart. "What's up?"

Edward joins me, clasping his hands in his lap and staring at them. He's quiet for a minute before chuckling darkly. "I know I should have just told you this at the cabin," he begins, still unable to meet my gaze, "but I wasn't sure how to tell you without ruining the trip." There's an urgent knock at the door, but Edward ignores it, so I do as well. "I wanted so much for you to enjoy yourself and relax, and this would have tarnished the experience."

My palms begin to sweat, so I rub them on my jeans and swallow thickly. I'm about to ask him to continue when there's another rapid-fire knock at the door. Based on the urgency, I'd probably be right to assume it's Emmett.

I move to stand up, but Edward's hand snaps out and grips my wrist, his eyes meeting mine, bloodshot and looking somewhat damp. What the hell is going on?

"Please," he says, his voice cracking. "Ignore it. They'll go away."

I do as he asks, and sit back down, turning my hand and slipping it into his. "The phone calls?" I prod gently.

"They were from my ex. Irina."

I inhale shakily. "Oh," is all I can say. I knew it wasn't a wrong number, but I definitely wasn't expecting to hear this. "W-what did she want?"

The knocking repeats, even more urgent than the first two times, and I sigh, pulling my hand free and placing it on his cheek. He tilts his head into my touch and closes his eyes. "It's probably just Emmett, excited to hear everything," I tell him, softly. "I'll go tell him to come back later, okay?"

He's reluctant to let me leave, but he does. As I walk down the stairs to the front door, I find myself strangely grateful for the interruption; it'll give me a chance to stop my hands from shaking. It's not that I don't understand his reasoning for misleading me, but what I can't figure out is what she could have wanted. I mean, she tried calling him a couple of times that I know of—she likely even texted him too—the question is _why_?

I try to force a smile in hopes that Emmett won't pick up on my distress, but when I pull the door open, I'm not met with his bright blue eyes, but the hazel ones of a tall blonde I've never seen before.

"Hello?" I greet, confused. "Can I help you?"

She smiles, stepping to the side and looking around me. "Hi. Is Edward home?"

I narrow my eyes. "He is, but we're a little busy right now."

She stops trying to look around me, looking me in the eye and smiling. "You must be the new flavour of the month. Congrats."

My left eye twitches before they both narrow. I cross my arms across my chest, refusing to budge from my spot, and I smile cockily. "Which I suppose would make you the one that made him want to try something new."

Her smile doesn't disappear, but her eyes widen a little and she looks . . . impressed. "Relax, honey," she says with a laugh. "I'm not here to mark my territory. Lord knows Edward's already done enough of that."

My eyebrows pull together, confused, and my eyes follow her hands to where she places them over her taught stomach. Before I can register the gesture, though, I hear footsteps in the hall upstairs.

"Bella? Did you get rid of hi—" His voice falters, and when I turn to him, I see that almost all the colour has drained from his face. "Irina. What are you doing here?"

"You still hadn't called me back," she replies. "I get that you were on vacation, but we need to talk about what we're going to do."

What they're going to do . . .

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><p><strong>AN2: Oh geez . . . what a pickle! He was so close to opening up to her, and then this happens? True, he should have told her on vacation, but he had his reasons for waiting, right?**

**What did you think? Did you love it/hate it? Still love me, or are you leaning more toward hate for ending it there?**

**. . . **

**Before you pass judgment, maybe you'll want to read the rest of the chapter and then tell me how you feel about me ;)**

**LOLOL! **

**Come on . . . it's funny! Admit it, you laughed a little ;)**

**Now go read the rest of the damn chapter, and don't forget to leave me some love :P**

* * *

><p>I repeat this a few times in my head, my gaze drifting from Edward to Irina and back again as the realization sinks in, settling like lead in my stomach. "Oh god," I moan, shaking my head and taking a step back.<p>

Edward runs down the stairs, the heavy thud of his extremely fast footsteps echoing in my ears and competing with my increasing pulse. He takes my hand, his eyes searching mine for forgiveness. "Bella, I can explain—I was _trying_ to explain."

"She's pregnant . . . and you knew." It's not a question.

His face falls to our clasped hands, but before he can speak, Irina interjects. "About ten weeks." She pauses. "You didn't tell her? Oh, Edward."

Taking an extremely shaking breath and ignoring the slight burning in my eyes, I pull my hands from his. "I, um . . . I need to go."

"Bella—"

I walk past Edward, grabbing my keys from the table next to the door. "I'm going to take a drive."

He tries again, following me out the door as I stumble past Irina and down toward my truck. "Bella, please."

I stop before reaching my truck and turn to him. He looks absolutely terrified and somewhat devastated, and I realize that he thinks I'm leaving him. For good. Is that why he'd been so attentive these last few days? Because he thought this would be the end of us? Was he so sure I would just throw in the towel?

True, I'm not exactly jumping up and down about this turn of events, but breaking up with him didn't even cross my mind. I just need time to process all of this.

I smile, but I'm sure it comes across as uneasy as it feels, and I take his hand. "I'll be back," I assure him. "But you need to deal with this."

Edward appears uncertain, but he nods reluctantly. "Okay," he says. "I understand."

I pull my hand away and step toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck. While I'm hurt that he felt the need to keep something this big from me, I know this is probably not easy. "I'll be back in a couple hours, okay? Go," I tell him. "Figure out whatever it is you need to figure out."

"Okay," he repeats, pulling back and kissing me softly. "I love you. You know that, right?"

"I do." I nod. "And I love you . . . But you need to deal with this. We'll talk later?"

Edward lets me get in the truck, and I drive away, looking in the rearview mirror to see him still standing there, watching me. I don't really know where I'm going, so when I pull up to a stop at the dorms, I'm a little surprised.

I throw the truck into park and head inside to see if Alice is around. I'd have called her, but I forgot my phone at home in all the madness. The halls are bustling as I walk through them, everyone probably just getting back from holidays and preparing to return to school in the next couple of days. When I reach Alice's room, I hear music coming from inside. A good sign that she's home.

I reach out and knock, and when I hear her invite me in, I push the door open—kind of regretting it the minute I look around to see all the lit candles and Alice dressed in black lingerie.

"Oh god!" I cry out, turning around and covering my blushing face with my hands. "Alice!"

"Oops!" she says with a little giggle. "Sorry, I was kind of expecting Jasper."

"Clearly."

I hear shuffling behind me before she says, "Okay, you can turn around now."

When I do, she's pulled on a thick white robe and plastered a wide smile on her face as she rushes toward me and pulls me into a hug. "How was your trip?" Then her excitement fades as she takes in my lack of enthusiasm. "Wait, why are you here? What happened?"

With a sigh, I flop down on her bed, spilling my guts. I start with the phone calls while we were on vacation, and end with the events of this afternoon before I wound up here. Alice texts Jasper to tell him that something's come up and that he should come over later, and after my two-hour monologue, she's at a loss for words—a first, for sure.

We're silent for a few minutes as Alice digests what I've just told her. Finally, she speaks. "So his ex is pregnant?"

I shrug. "That's what it sounds like. I didn't really stick around to have a look at the ultrasound picture," I quip.

"And you're sure it's Edward's?"

I shrug again. "Again, no idea. I assume he'll demand a paternity test."

"Do . . ." She trails off for a minute, hesitant to continue. "Do you think she wants him back?"

I'm about to answer when my voice fails me. Is that what this is all about? Is Irina looking to get him back? "I'm not sure," I answer honestly. "I suppose that could be on her agenda."

"What are you going to do?"

I don't need to think about this long. "What do you mean? She's ten weeks along—Edward and I have been together about a month. He was a free agent when this happened—if it's even his. He loves me, and I love him . . ."

"Sweetie, I know," Alice says softly. "But a pregnant ex showing up can't be the easiest thing to deal with. Especially if you don't know her intentions . . . or his."

Feeling resolute, I sit up straight and square my shoulders. "I don't care about her intentions," I tell Alice. "I love him, and I know he loves me. He looked absolutely terrified when he thought I was leaving him. I don't think he wants her back." I sigh. "Besides, I've already lost one boyfriend to someone else, and I'll be damned if I let Irina come between us."

Alice smiles proudly. "Good for you."

Feeling a little better, I stand up and hug her. I'm still a little hurt by Edward's omissions, but it's nothing that can't be worked through. "Thanks, Alice."

She nods and turns me toward the door. "Anytime. Now, go home and straighten this shit out, would you?"

I do as I'm told, and when I open the door, I'm face to face with Jasper. He tips his head before stepping aside for me to leave. "Evenin', Bella."

"Hey, Jasper. Good to see you again." I wave once more. "You two have a good night."

I drive back to the house as quickly as my truck will allow for—which isn't much over the speed limit—and park the truck. I sit there for a minute, clenching the steering wheel tightly, and take a deep breath before heading inside. I wasn't lying when I told Alice that I had no intentions of rolling over and letting Irina take Edward from me, but I'm suddenly feeling less sure that Edward won't want to raise this baby with her. I mean, they're both close to thirty. Maybe they'll want to settle down. Lord knows I'm not ready for marriage yet.

I swallow thickly, looking at the closed front door. What if leaving them alone was a mistake? What if they got talking and Edward decided his future didn't involve me? I know he said he loved me, but she could be the mother of his child if it turns out that this baby is his, and that has to mean something. That's a bond I can't compete with.

While the direction my thoughts have taken terrifies me to the core, I know that the only way to find out will be to face him and talk things through. No matter the outcome, I'm a big girl and I can handle anything.

Right?

The door is unlocked, and the sight I see upon stepping through it surprises me. Edward is sitting on the third step, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and when he hears the door close, his head snaps up. He looks rough. His eyes are wide, worry lines etched deeply into his forehead, and his hair is a disaster from his hands running through it relentlessly.

"Hey," I greet lamely. "She gone?"

Edward shoots up from the stairs and rushes over to me, pulling me into his arms. He holds me tight—so tight I find it hard to take a decent breath.

"Baby," I struggle to say, reaching up with both hands and patting his back. "I can't breathe."

He releases me, smiling apologetically and taking me by the hand. "Sorry. I'm just so glad you're back. Where were you?"

"Alice's," I reply honestly. "I just needed to clear my head." I look around again, and while I think I know the answer to my previous question, I feel the need to ask again. "Is she gone?"

Edward nods. "She is. She left about an hour and a half ago."

"I see." Pausing, I squeeze his hand. "Have you eaten?" He shakes his head. "Well then," I say, "let's go."

I lead Edward into the kitchen where we rifle through the cupboards for something to snack on. I know we won't find much since we have yet to hit the market, but we find the makings for a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches.

Edward parks himself at the island, and I hop up onto the counter by the sink, across the room from him. I don't sit this far from him to hurt him, but I need for us to have this talk without the risk of him dazzling me or seducing me with a look or a touch. Not that I think he would. I can tell by the look on his face that he knows the severity of the situation.

The distance between us isn't just physical right now, but emotional as well, and while I know we'll figure everything out, we've got some work to do in order to get back to the way things were . . . or, as close to it as possible considering the circumstances.

"I'm sorry—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" we both say at the same time.

Edward picks at his sandwich and sighs. "I wanted to," he replies. "I was _going_ to. I just didn't want to do it while we were away. Risking a fight just didn't seem worth it."

"A fight?" I question, my defenses starting to go up. "You think I would have fought with you? Do you really think I'm not capable of acting maturely?"

"It's not that. But, can you honestly tell me that you'd have been happy about it? That you wouldn't have let it affect our vacation?"

I laugh dryly and without humour. "Oh, because every time you would stress about it and not talk to me, that made the vacation that much better?" Realization hits him hard, making him gasp sharply, and I nod. "Yeah. It sucked, Edward. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn't push because I figured you'd come to me when you were ready."

"And I did," he argues quietly. "Upstairs. I was about to tell you. I realize I fucked up—god, in so many ways."

I sigh, my shoulders slumping. "Look, I get it. I do," I tell him, pulling my legs up onto the counter and crossing them. "I just wish I could have been there for you."

"I know. Every day, I thought about telling you—about how to bring it up—but every time I tried I got scared of losing you."

I smile upon hearing that he was afraid of losing me. "Well, I'm not going anywhere." The tension in the room is still pretty thick, so I decide to take a crack at lightening it. "I signed a lease, remember?"

He laughs, and the outer corners of his eyes crease when his smile reaches them. That's the smile I've missed the last few days. "Of course. Thank god for legally binding contracts."

With the slight shift in our moods, I decide to try and figure out the rest of what's going on. "So, ten weeks, huh? Does that . . . um, does it match up?"

He nods, but only once, and he doesn't look too thrilled about it. "It does. There have been a couple of times since we broke up that we've been together." He brings his eyes up to meet mine and rushes to add on, "But that was before I even met you, Bella. You have to believe me. I haven't talked to her since October."

"I believe you," I assure him. "And you're sure it's yours?"

Edward shrugs. "She says she hasn't been with anyone else since that night."

"And you believe her?"

"She's not a liar," he tells me. "She might have been a little crazy at times, but she's not a liar. Plus, she's the one who suggested a paternity test if I wanted to continue the pregnancy."

Hearing that Irina suggested the paternity test impresses me, though I'm still kind of hoping there's a possibility the baby isn't Ed—

"Wait," I say, interrupting my own thoughts. "If _you _want to continue the pregnancy?"

"Caught that, did ya?" I nod, raising my eyebrows and waiting for an explanation. "She's not ready to be a mother right now. She just got the job opportunity of a lifetime in Italy. If she continues the pregnancy, she can negotiate the terms of her contract so she can move out there after the baby's born." He pauses nervously, toying with his hair again. "She's offered to sign over all parental claim of the child—should I decide that I'm ready for the responsibility."

And the heavy returns to the room like a lead weight.

"Oh." If Edward decides to continue the pregnancy, does that mean he expects me to step up and be a mother? No child should have to live without one, right? Am I ready for that, though? I'm only twenty . . .

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm only twenty, Edward," I tell him, voicing my last thought. "I don't know that I'm ready to be a mom."

His head begins to shake, and he pushes his chair back, the feet scraping against the tile floor, and rushes to stand in front of me. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm not suggesting you have to step up and be the child's mother. But I know I don't want to lose you over this, either."

I place my hands along his jaw. "Your memory fading, already?" I tease. "I already told you I'm not going anywhere."

His breath wavers as he inhales, and he stares at me for a minute. "Well, what should we do?"

"When I told you in Whistler that we'd handle this together, I meant it . . . but I can't make this decision for you. It's yours, and yours alone, to make. Just know that I'll support whatever path you take."

Leaning forward, he kisses me softly, hesitantly, and I bring my legs down from the counter and wrap them around him. His rigid posture softens, and his hands rest on my thighs as he presses his forehead to mine. "Look who's perfect now," he says.

I shrug my right shoulder and laugh lightly. "Well, it turns out you didn't set the bar very high," I tease, dropping my hands from his face and wrapping my arms around his neck. I'm not sure what decision he'll make, but I'm fairly confident that whatever it is, we'll get through it together.

* * *

><p><strong>The <span>FOR REAL<span> A/N3: So, there it is. Irina wants to sign over her parental rights. I know this won't comfort a lot of you, because you'll say "but she could come back and change her mind!" or something . . . but I'm here to tell you (as the author ;)) that, should Edward decide he wants to be a father, she will not be returning to the story after the baby is born. I promise. She's legitimately signing over all rights, leaving the country. **

**Now what do you all say we get back to the fun and silly times? **

**The next chapter is an early EPOV, as this one was **_**going**_** to be split into two before I decided I couldn't do that to you guys ;) We'll see his conversation with Irina and then a sweet moment where he and Bella talk about what he wants to do. Coolaroo?**


	31. Decisions, Decisions

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**I want to thank all of those who read and reviewed the last chapter. While not all of them were *great*, I do appreciate you taking the time to tell me how you felt. I knew when I plotted this story out a year ago that I was going to upset some people when I went this direction, but I'm not the kind of author who's going to change a storyline just because a few people are upset. The truth remains that a lot of you (while still worried about this situation) trust in me to give you that HEA.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 31. Decisions, Decisions<strong>

I can't believe how accepting Bella's been about this whole fucked-up situation. However, I'm not sure I entirely buy it either. Yes, she surprised me by acting so maturely, but I can tell it still bothers her—how couldn't it?

She assures me that she'll support whatever decision I make, but does she mean it? She flat-out told me she's not ready to be a mother, and while I would never force that upon her, if I choose to raise this baby, things will change. The baby will cry at all hours of the night—I'm not naive enough to think otherwise—and she'll find it hard to find any quiet time to study. Not to mention, our relalationship, while I wouldn't want it to, could suffer horribly.

I can't believe I got myself into this mess. I'll never drunk dial anyone ever again; no good comes of it.

Trying to find the right time to tell Bella everything proved to be difficult, and ultimately, I decided to wait until we were home. No matter how I spun it in my mind, it ruined the vacation. Of course, Bella points out that my emotional withdrawal did that, anyway. I'm such an asshole.

It's just my luck that when I finally find the courage to just rip the Band-Aid off, we're interrupted . . . by the source of my dilemma, no less.

When all the pieces fall into place for Bella, the look in her eyes kills me. Knowing I caused her that look makes my stomach roll, and I vow to never forgive myself.

The minute she grabs her keys and starts for the door, I feel sick to my stomach. I don't know what exactly to do, but I know I can't just let her walk out that door without trying to explain everything to her. She says she'll be back—that she just needs to think—and while I know she's absolutely entitled to some time alone to process this, I'm reluctant to agree. I let her go, though, because I have to deal with Irina. While I would much rather hash things out with Bella now and not later, I need to know the details of what needs to be discussed. And only one person has that information.

Irina.

Angry that Bella found out the way she did—again, it's completely my fault for not telling her sooner, but I'm looking for a scapegoat for my blame—I glare at Irina as I storm back into the house. She's hot on my trail and closes the door behind us.

"I'm sorry," she quickly says. "I didn't realize she had no idea."

"Why are you even here?" I demand, furious.

Irina's eyes widen and she pulls back slightly, almost afraid. "We're running out of time." Her voice is quiet and hesitant. "I figured coming to you and discussing this maturely was the right thing to do."

"How do I even know it's mine? We used a condom, and you were _supposedly _on the pill."

Her face contorts from afraid to angry in an instant. "How dare you even imply—"

"How dare I?" I shout. "_You_ came barging back into my life with this."

"Oh, pull your head out of your ass," she barks. "Condoms have a three percent failure rate—it's written right there on the box. And yes, I am on the pill, but apparently the antibiotics I was on for a bronchial infection rendered them completely fucking useless." She takes a deep, cleansing breath before continuing. "Now, it took both of us to make this mess, and I'll be damned if you leave it all on me to clean up."

"What do you want from me? Money? To get back together?" I ask, pacing back and forth, my self-loathing and rage still bubbling under my skin.

Staring at me incredulously, Irina shakes her head. "You're unbelievable, you know that?" I stare at her, dumbfounded. "Everything's always about you, right? All the girls are just lining up to get a piece of Edward Cullen." Her sarcasm isn't appreciated, but it knocks me off my high horse for a moment.

"I don't want you back, Edward," she seethes. "I want you to decide what the next step is." She looks down, placing her hand over her flat stomach. "I don't have a maternal bone in my body—you know that. Kids were never in my future."

I swallow thickly, taking a step back until I hit the wall and letting it support me as my legs threaten to give out. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying, if you want the baby, it's yours. I'll get a paternity test to ease your mind, and I'll carry it to term. Like a surrogate. I'll do all the things a pregnant woman is supposed to do: I won't drink, I'll avoid large quantities of seafood and caffeine . . . I'll give you a healthy child, and after it's born, I'll sign over any and all claim to the child. Or there's always . . ." She lets her words hang there for a minute, implying that she'd be okay terminating the pregnancy.

Even though this isn't how I saw my life turning out right now, the thought of not manning up to the responsibility being thrust at me makes me uneasy.

"Why?" I croak, once I've found my voice again.

"I've always been selfish," she says with a smirk. "You know that. I just got the opportunity of a lifetime working in Italy. A child would complicate that. I haven't signed my contract yet, and I'm sure I can negotiate its terms so I can stay in the US until after the baby is born." A heavy silence fills the room, and Irina watches me expectantly. "I'm giving you the choice."

"I don't . . . I can't . . ." I thrust my fingers through my hair, fisting it roughly. "_Bella_."

"I'm not going to ask you to make up your mind right now. But sooner would be better than later." She offers me a smile. I think it's meant to come off as reassuring, but I'm not feeling it. "No tricks, Edward. I'm serious when I say I'll sign over all parental claim."

All I can do is nod in her direction, but I barely see her; I'm staring at nothing and everything at the same time, all of it blurring into nothingness.

"She's lovely, by the way." She laughs once, genuine humour ringing out. "Quite the firecracker. I didn't mean to cause trouble for the two of you, but I think she's stronger than you're giving her credit for. If she feels as strongly for you as I think she does, based on the death glare she gave me earlier, then I think she'll stick by you through this. Give her time, Edward."

With that, she leaves, and I am faced with a decision that has the potential to change my entire life.

I stumble over to the stairs and sit down to figure out how my life had gone from damn-near perfect to completely fucked in what feels like seconds.

When Bella finally arrives home, she seems nervous, but less upset than before. I'm beyond relieved she showed up at all, because, while she told me she'd be back, I figured she was just feeding me a line to placate me.

From there, we talk. We talk about it all. She's more than candid about how she feels—about my omission, my obvious distress, and where she's at. Neither of us really eats, instead picking at the sandwiches we've made for something to busy our fidgeting hands. By the end of the conversation, I'd say we're in a better place than moments earlier. It's not back to where it was, but we've still got so much to work through.

Exhausted, we head upstairs for bed. I'm supposed to go into work tomorrow, but I'm thinking I might see if Emmett can handle everything solo for a few days. I've got a lot to figure out, and not a lot of time to do it.

I stare at Bella across the bed from me. It's dark in the bedroom, the moonlight only casting enough light that I can make out her expressive eyes. There's two feet between us as we lie on our sides, facing one another, and the room is silent except for the sound of our breathing. I admire her silently, thankful and confused for how forgiving she's been.

"Thank you," I whisper, reaching out and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"For what?"

"For saying you'll support me. It can't be easy for you to have to go through this."

Bella shrugs, dropping her gaze from me. It's something I've come to recognize as her tell when she's _trying_ to be strong and selfless. "It's nothing. You'd have done the same."

"Bella . . ."

She sighs. "Yeah, it sucks," she confesses, reaching out and taking my hand. "But I love you."

Still worried that she doesn't understand just how much things could change for us with a new baby, I give her hand a squeeze. "You know a baby will change things, right?" She stares at me, her eyes wide and nervous. "It doesn't change the way I feel about you or us, but I want you to really think about this, sweetheart. If I decide to raise this child on my own, your life will be affected as long as you live here."

She sits up in an instant, pulling her hand from mine and placing it against her chest like she's guarding her heart. "Are you asking me to move out? Do you not want me here anymore?"

"What?" I exclaim, following her lead and sitting up. "No. That's not what I'm saying at all. But you said you're not ready to be a mother. If you live here, you'll be subjected to the all-night crying, midnight feedings, and diaper changes. You're young and just starting your life. Going to school, getting ready to start your career . . . I'm giving you the opportunity to change your mind. To back out of your lease . . . and out of this relationship."

"I've already told you I'm not going anywhere. I've known about all of this for less than eight hours, Edward. I'm scared. You need to give me time to process everything. Right now, it all feels like I'm caught in a dream. Like I'm going to wake up at any minute and we'll still be in Whistler." She pauses for a moment and smiles, restoring a little of my hope. "Yes, I said I'm not ready to be a mother_ . . ._ but I didn't mean _ever_. We'll figure this out. We'll just have to take it one day at a time."

There's conviction behind her words; it wavers a bit, but it is enough to convince me that we'll be all right. I turn to look at the alarm clock and see that it's late, and we're both clearly exhausted. We lie back down and continue to stare at each other until we fall asleep. There'll be time to talk tomorrow.

**::: Rw/aV :::**

I refuse to make a choice until a paternity test can confirm whether or not Irina's telling the truth. She tells me she'll set up the paternity test and let me know when the appointment is. Apparently, between ten and thirteen weeks, the most accurate way to test paternity is to collect a chorionic villus sample. I suggest we try to get in before Irina enters her second trimester so we still have options, and while she seems a little annoyed by the underlying insinuation that the child isn't mine, she agrees to it.

Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, folks.

The first few days are still a little tense, but Bella and I try to get things as close to normal as we can. Emmett and Rose assure me they can cover for me for the rest of the week. I haven't given them the details of why I need a few extra days off, but they're understanding nonetheless.

In addition to not telling Emmett and Rose, I've decided to wait and not tell my parents until I know for certain that the baby is mine. Bella agrees that it's for the best, and her constant reassurance helps keep me grounded through it all. Even if I still don't deserve it after all I've kept from her.

That night that we talked about everything, I vowed before falling asleep to never keep anything from her again. If something happens in the future, I _will_ tell her immediately. No matter what it is.

Irina sets the paternity test up for two days after she and I spoke. I'm extremely nervous, but Bella helps calm my nerves. She offers to come with me, but I don't want to make her feel obligated to do something she's not quite comfortable with. While I would love her to be there, just the offer is enough to show her support.

Irina and I wait in the waiting room after we sign the appropriate paperwork. She seems perfectly fine while I can't get my hands to stop sweating. Normally, I'd be a little concerned by how calm she is, but it only makes sense given the future she's chosen for herself.

"How is she?" Irina asks politely, trying to keep my mind occupied. "Bella, I mean."

"She's good. Better than good, actually," I confess. "She's been surprisingly supportive."

"I told you she would be."

"Irina?" The nurse's voice interrupts us, and Irina stands up to follow her into one of the rooms. Not long after Irina leaves, another nurse calls my name, and I follow her into a room across the hall. My portion of the test is far less invasive than Irina's, as they take a swab from the inside of my cheek, so I'm done before Irina and wait for her in the waiting room.

She comes out with the nurse, looking no different than when she went in, and we're assured that we should have the test results within the week. Which means I could be explaining this to a lot of people by next weekend.

Thinking about what my parents might say causes my anxiety to spike, and it's all I can think about on my way home. Bella notices the minute I step through the door, and she ushers me into the living room, settling me onto the couch and rubbing my shoulders to help ease the tension in them.

"It'll be fine," she assures me softly, letting her fingers move up my neck and into my hair. It makes my scalp tingle, the sensation moving below the surface of my skin and all over my body. "They'll understand. They're going to be grandparents. How could that not be good news?" She pauses for a minute, her hands ceasing their ministrations, and she rests her chin on my shoulder. "Regardless of how it happened."

I sigh, letting my head fall to the side to rest against hers. "How are you so okay with this?"

Bella lifts her head and starts massaging my shoulders again. "I'm still not . . . not completely, anyway," she admits. "But I'm taking it a day at a time, Edward. I'm working toward accepting what life's thrown our way."

I reach up with my right hand and place it on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Take as much time as you need. Just promise you'll tell me if you're ever feeling . . . fuck, I don't know . . . overwhelmed."

"I will."

As the week passes, I go back and forth about how the paternity results will come back. Part of me feels without a doubt that Irina is telling the truth, but the part of me that wants so badly to go back in time to the way things were with Bella hopes otherwise.

When the results come in the mail, Bella's by my side, having just returned from school. She stands behind where I sit at the kitchen table and places her hands on my shoulders. It feels like she's lending me any strength she has as I open the envelope and pull out the piece of paper.

It tells me what, deep down, I already knew it would: the baby is mine.

I sit there, staring at the paper in silence. Time seems to stop, the edges of my vision darkening until all I can focus on are the results. My eyes start to itch and dry out from my inability to blink, and it isn't until Bella wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek that I take my first breath.

"Okay," she says sweetly. "So now we know." I nod, rubbing my hand over her forearm.

"Now we know," I repeat. "I guess it's time to make a decision."

Sighing lightly, Bella straightens up and walks around my chair, taking the test results from me and setting them on the table before she sits across my lap. "Edward, you made the decision the minute Irina explained everything." I open my mouth to protest, but Bella smiles and cuts me off. "Don't try to deny it. I could see it in your eyes that night. The fact that you're willing to step up to the plate and do what needs to be done is . . . admirable, and I think it's made me fall in love with you just a little bit more."

She's not wrong; there was very little doubt that I would raise this child if it turned out to be mine. But I still worry that this whole situation will drive an even bigger wedge between us than it already has. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I nod. "And you're sure you're all right with this? For a baby to come into my life?"

"_Our _life," she amends. "We have . . . what? Seven months?" She inhales a shaky breath, her smile faltering for the briefest of seconds. "I think that gives us enough time to figure things out."

**::: Rw/aV :::**

I invite my parents over for coffee Saturday afternoon. I'm nervous as hell to tell them that they're going to be grandparents, but Bella is sure to remind me that they don't seem like the type that will be upset.

"They might need time like I did to understand it all, but they'll be ecstatic," tells me before they arrive. I'd assume Bella will make an excuse to get out of the house while I tell them, but I'm surprised to find out she's planned on showing her support by staying close by.

When the doorbell rings, Bella runs off to the kitchen to prepare the tea and coffee, and I usher my parents into the living room.

"Where's Bella?" my mother asks brightly.

"Um, getting the coffee," I explain, clearing my throat as they take a seat on the sofa.

They watch me expectantly as I stand before them, and I decide to just tell them. Stalling in an effort to figure out the best way to deliver this news caused problems for Bella and me, and I wasn't going to repeat that mistake again.

I take a deep breath. "So, the reason I asked you both here wasn't just to have coffee," I confess, wringing my hands in front of me.

"Oh, dear," my mother says, reaching for Dad's hand. "What's happened?"

"Um . . . well . . . You're, uh . . . You're going to be grandparents." They're eyes go wide simultaneously, but I don't see anger there, only excitement.

Before I get a chance to clarify, Bella appears just then, holding a tray with the coffee and teapots on it, and when my parents notice my focus shift to her, they're on their feet and turning around.

Mom quickly takes the tray and sets it on the end table before wrapping her arms around Bella, pinning her arms to her sides. "Oh, this is so amazing—I mean, a little soon, sure, but you two were just meant to be together."

"Oh, this is awkward," Bella groans, bringing her arms up as much as possible to pat my mom's back. "Esme, no." She looks to me for help, and I step forward.

"Mom, Bella's not pregnant," I amend, my voice low and rough.

Mom releases Bella, looks to Dad, and then to me. "I'm confused," she says.

"Irina," I croak. "Irina's pregnant."

Now their eyes go wide with every emotion _other_ than excitement. "Irina," Mom repeats, reaching blindly to her left for my father. "Irina's pregnant. How? When? Good god, Edward, _why_?"

I suddenly feel like a six-year-old child again, under the scrutinizing glare of my parents when they caught me kissing the neighbour girl in the backyard. "I didn't . . . it wasn't . . ." I sigh, collapsing into the chair and pressing my face into my hands. "I don't know."

"Is that why she called the house?" my father asks, and I nod, still unable to look at them.

A warm hand presses to my shoulder, and I feel Bella's presence as she slides onto the arm of the chair. "She came to the house just after we'd returned and delivered the news. We were caught off-guard, yes, but we're trying to make the best of the situation," Bella explains, running her hand over my shoulders.

I lift my face from my hands and look up at her in awe. I didn't fail to notice how she used the word "we," and while I'd heard her say it the other day, it still renders me momentarily speechless. Her support gives me the strength I need to continue explaining everything to my parents.

By the time I tell them what Irina's proposal is, my parents seem to have relaxed. A little. Like Bella, they're still trying to process what they've just learned, and are going to need a little time. They leave after their coffee is finished, hugging Bella and me and telling us to call them if we need anything.

Once they're gone, Bella closes and locks the door before turning to me with a smile. "Well, that could have gone worse."

Unable to voice my gratitude for all she'd done this afternoon, I pull her into my arms and kiss her. Saying "thank you" just doesn't seem like enough, but even kissing her doesn't seem sufficient.

She accepts it, though, winding her arms around my neck and pulling me closer, her tongue tracing the line of my lips before deepening our kiss. My hands move down over her hips until I grab her ass and lift her up. The minute her legs wrap around my waist, I turn us around and head for the stairs. I stop kissing her so I can see the steps, but she continues to kiss and bite the skin of my neck, making it difficult for me to focus on climbing the stairs when all I want to do is press her against the wall and have my way with her. When her fingers twist into my hair, they send a tingling sensation from my scalp, beneath my skin, and straight to my groin—it's really not helping my inability to focus.

At the top of the stairs, I find myself unable to keep my lips off of her anymore, and I move forward quickly, slamming us into the table outside the game room. It rocks beneath the force of our weight, and everything that was on it falls to the floor one at a time. I grunt as my lips find Bella's again, and her hands frantically begin tugging at the button of my jeans before she slips her hand inside and wraps it around my cock.

"Ah, _fuck_," I moan against her lips as she moves her hand, tightening her grip slightly and repeating the action. Instinctively, I thrust my hips into her palm while my hands move up under her shirt.

The table wobbles beneath Bella, and she giggles, her head falling back while I kiss the smooth column of her throat. "Perhaps we should move this to the bedroom before this table gives out."

Always one to oblige, I remove my hands from her tits and grab her ass, lifting her off the table and carrying her down the hall. Inside my bedroom, I toss her down on my bed, and we scramble to remove each other's clothes. Our fingers claw desperately at buttons and hems, our hands paw at newly exposed naked flesh, and before I can even kick my pants off entirely, I grab a condom from the bedside table and put it on before nudging her knees apart and entering her slick heat.

The instant I'm sheathed within her, I realize that it's the first time that we've made love since we left Whistler, and I wonder if she's made this realization as well. One look in her eyes tells me she has. I lower myself until our bodies are completely pressed together, all of the air expelled from within our bodies until we can feel one another's heartbeats, and I hold most of my weight off of her by balancing on my forearms.

As our hips roll together, seeking the pinnacle of ecstasy, I attempt to slow our lovemaking, to show her how much her love and support have meant to me these past two weeks, but she's having none of it. She uses all of her strength to roll us over, taking her place above me and setting our pace. I always love it when she's on top, and I find myself struggling to hold on as her hips move up and down, back and forth, and around in sensual circles while her fingers curl against my chest, her fingernails biting gently into my skin.

Every muscle in my body tenses, and the surface of my skin tingles from head to toe, my fingers going numb, as I teeter on the edge of losing control. My hands fly to her hips, curling around them and pulling her harder against me. She cries out as her pussy tightens around my cock, coaxing my own orgasm from me before she collapses on my chest, panting heavily.

We lay like this long enough that I get to feel her quickened heartbeat slow to its normal pace once more. My hand moves up and down her spine slowly as my eyes fall closed, contentedness blanketing the both of us.

"What are you thinking about?" Bella asks out of nowhere, shifting her head until her chin rests on my sternum.

I tilt my head to look at her and smirk. "Nothing really, just basking in the moment. You?"

"I miss Whistler," she confesses.

I automatically assume she means she misses how simple our lives seemed when we were in Whistler, so I look at her apologetically. Before I can respond to her, though, her eyebrows pull together and she shakes her head. "Oh, no. This isn't about what we came back to. Not at all. It's just . . . _because_ we came back to all of this, I never really got a chance to really let our vacation soak in, you know? I'm going to miss the cabin, and it makes me sad that we'll never get to go back there. We'd built a few memories there, and I'm sad we won't be making more in the vacation home you grew up in." She pauses, biting her lip lightly. "Especially now, you know?"

I do know, and she's absolutely right. Some of my best memories were from our family vacations up to Whistler, and I'd enjoyed the new ones there with Bella. And now that I was going to have a child of my own, I could imagine introducing him or her to that part of my life.

And maybe this would be the perfect way to show Bella how much I appreciate all that she's done. It would prove my loyalty to her and show her that I foresee a long and happy life with her . . .

"What if we didn't have to say goodbye," I say quietly, drawing curiosity from her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

I smile, lifting my hands to her face and pushing her hair back before cradling her jaw, my thumbs moving idly over her cheekbones. "What if I bought the cabin from my parents? For us."

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><p><strong>AN2: I know I've already lost readers due to this turn of events. I knew it would happen, and I'm okay with it. Really. There've been some pretty harsh reviews, but it's not something I've never experienced before with some of my other fics. I get it. It's cool. I appreciated every review, because it helps me understand what people like and dislike. **

**Those of you who have chosen to stick by me through this little twist, what did you all think of how the situation is being handled? I tried to get a little of the humour back that we were used to (as well as some of the citrus ;)). I clearly can't get RIGHT back to it, because that would be unrealistic and a bit insensitive to the situation, but it'll get there. I promise.**

**One more thing I want to mention to all of those who are having trouble grasping how Bella could possibly love a child that's not biologically hers: this Edward is adopted. To site this huge biological reason as to why Bella could never love it as if it were her own seems odd to me, especially when Edward is proof that DNA and blood don't give you the ability to love...it's the size of the person's heart and their ability to open it to others. Yes, he made the baby with an ex, but it's still a half of the man she loves. How could she not love it :)**

**So, let me know what you thought! Teasers await those who review!**

**Next up, we hear from Bella. Some big stuff is going to happen. In a very good way :)**


	32. Moving Forward

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**Wow. You guys are just . . . amazing. While I still had my fair share of the "not-so-happy" reviews regarding this turn of events, I had far more support **_(and before anyone jumps down my throat: I did delete any that outwardly flamed ME...but I also accidentally deleted some that were only voicing an opinion of the story. This was an accident, as my computer lag was just ridiculous :( So I'm sorry if anyone noticed this and got all butt-hurt)_**. Some of you are still trying to wrap your heads around it, and that's cool, but you're willing to stick it out. For that, I thank you. The words of encouragement that were sent my way via review and PM were more than appreciated and touched me deeply. I truly have the best readers in the fandom, and I am sad that I lost a few. I hope not forever, though, because I would hate for the events of one story to sour any of my future work.**

**Originally, I had this whole big spiel planned regarding those questioning the reality of the situation. I decided to forego it because I'm not looking to enrage people any more than I already have. That was never the intent, and I'm sorry that some people got so upset about this turn of events. I will say, however, that I have been in this situation, and I am drawing inspiration from my life in regards to how I chose to deal with this situation. I was 19 at the time (31 now) and I'm happily married to the man today, so I don't feel it's an unrealistic storyline. Uncommon? Sure.**

**I've also taken the advice of a couple of readers and changed the category to Romance/Drama. While I don't think it was particularly necessary since 2-3 chapters of drama vs 30+ of romantic and funny don't necessarily constitute the label, I can see now how some readers could misconstrue it. So, I apologize if you felt blindsided or duped, and should you not continue with this story, know that I do have several purely funny—with absolutely NO drama—fics slated for the future. From this point on, I will categorize my stories more carefully to avoid the backlash in the future. Any and all drama will be noted.**

**Thanks again to my readers, and a HUGE thanks to my betas. They've also played a big part in keeping me on track, telling me to pay more attention to the positive and letting the negative roll off my back (while still heeding the more civil ones as constructive). I'm not going to please everyone. This is a fact of life. I'm just happy to have the love and support of so many.**

***hops off soapbox***

**Before this AN winds up being longer than the chapter itself, I'm going to smile and step back into the shadows so you can all enjoy the rest of the story. We still have some healing to do, regardless of how well these two seem to be doing. Let's see how Bella's really doing . . . and how her parents react to this news.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 32. Moving Forward<strong>

I'm a fake. A phony. Every smile and show of support over the last two weeks is thick-plated armour I've carefully constructed. Yes, it's deceiving, but Edward needs someone in his corner right now. I may be young, but I understand the severity of the situation he's found himself in. And it terrifies me on a much deeper level than I'm letting on.

Edward's pretty perceptive, though, and has—on more than one occasion—suspected my unease. He's not one to leave it alone, though, and when he calls me on it, I'm forthright—to a degree. I don't feel like I can tell him exactly how much this scares me, because he's scared too. He's not only afraid of how much things will change in his life, but in _our_ life too. I want to be brave and selfless—to be the person I've been pretending to be for everyone he's told thus far—but I'm finding it hard to adjust this quickly.

The truth is, I'm hurt. Hurt that he kept this from me on vacation—though I kind of understand why—hurt that I found out the way I did, and hurt because he'll experience all of these firsts before he and I are ready to start a family of our own. That last one is the one that stings the most.

In addition to being hurt, I'm also a little . . . confused. Oh, and pissed off. Let's not forget that one. I'm not necessarily pissed off at Edward, because this all happened before we even knew each other, but I'm pissed off that this is the curve ball life has thrown my way. Have I not had to deal with enough in the last three months? I mean, really. First, all that shit with Jake, and now this? What next?

Wait . . . scratch that. I don't think that tempting fate by asking that question is a good idea right now; I'll deal with one life problem at a time, thank you very much.

Irina showing up when she did was upsetting. She'd waited the entire week that we were away to tell Edward . . . could she not have waited another day? Honestly, it was quite rude, and when she made that "flavour of the month" comment, I felt like punching her in the face—and considering I've done that before without feeling remorseful, I'd have gladly done it again. Unfortunately, I was caught off guard with that whole "ta-da! I'm pregnant" revelation, and I'm pretty sure people frown upon those who punch pregnant women.

I hate her. No, really; I fucking _hate_ Irina.

I'm not a person who generally doles out a lot of hate because it just wastes too much energy, and, honestly, life is just too damn short for it. Sure, I dislike people—Jake and Leah, for example—but I don't see the point in hating anyone. Or, I didn't until I met that bitch.

I thought how I felt when I learned of Edward and Heidi's tryst was the most jealous I would ever feel, but when I learned about how he and Irina had been together only weeks before we'd met . . . well, let's just say that Heidi was the initial knife wound and Irina was the twist that would keep the wound open for a very long time.

Seven months, to be exact. At least, I hope it won't be longer than that.

I haven't let on just how much Irina's appearance has upset me because, honestly, I figure Edward has more than enough to deal with. After voicing my insecurities about Heidi in BC, I've come to trust in Edward's feelings for me, and while I still feel more than a little insecure about what the future holds or whether he still has feelings for her, I can't bring myself to make this all about me. I don't want to be that person.

Okay, so I do, but I won't.

When Edward tells me that Irina only plans to be around until the baby is born, I find myself feeling relieved, and I hope I won't have too much contact with her before then. I understand that she'll be around here and there and that I can't do anything about that, but I can control is how often I choose to insert myself into any part of this that involves her.

I did offer to go with Edward to his paternity test, even though I knew Irina would be there, but, secretly, I'd hoped he would decline my offer. Thankfully, he did. I really have no idea what I was thinking when I suggested that shit in the first place.

When Edward decided he was ready to tell his parents, I told him I'd stay in a show of support. Irina wasn't involved in that, so I felt particularly good about my decision. Edward was terrified about how they would react, but I knew they'd be all right. Did I expect them to accept it right away? Not at all, but only because I was—and still am—having trouble getting used to the idea.

I'd missed the first part of the conversation, but when I arrived into the living room with a tray of coffee and tea, Esme pulled me into her arms and congratulated us. Edward really had to work on including the more important details when breaking news to people. There was a momentary pang that jolted through me, making my stomach roll. Did I wish that it was me giving them their first grandchild? Sure. Anything would be better than what is actually happening.

They took the news pretty much how I did. They worked their way through the various stages of denial, anger, and finally—after a couple of hours—they found themselves at semi-acceptance. Are they happy? It's hard to say. I think the idea of a grandchild is exciting to them, but I'm sure they find the circumstances less than ideal.

Of course, I could just be projecting.

Edward was grateful for how I supported him when he told them. This was evident in the way he kissed me after they left. I know I should have stopped him, because, emotionally, I was still pretty fragile.

But I also wanted to forget.

Getting lost in Edward—no matter how upset I was deep down—seemed like a good idea at the time. It worked for the most part, but unfortunately, it all came back when all was said and done. Then I just felt guilty for using sex with Edward as a means to push our problems aside.

Of course, my guilt was only amplified when he brought up buying the cabin in Whistler.

It was a simple question, one that only needed a yes or no answer, but I found myself unsure how to respond. The gesture is sweet, and I absolutely love the idea of Edward buying the cabin . . . but it's a big step for us. I told him I needed a little time to think about it, and he was very understanding, telling me to take all the time I needed.

It's just too much all at once, and I need time to adjust to one big change before we own a vacation home together.

It's the end of my second week back at school since Whistler, and, just like every other day, I find myself escaping in my studies. Most people when faced with a life-altering situation might find themselves obsessing about it and unable to focus on school or work, but I'm thankful for the distraction of class five days a week. While the pregnancy does ferret its way into my thoughts several times a day—how could it not?—I find it easy to push aside when I have a school project to bury myself in.

After my last class of the day lets out, I find myself torn on what to do. Edward will be at work late with Emmett, working on some contracts for a few new athletes they've acquired. I don't relish going back to an empty house with nothing to preoccupy my thoughts, so I decide to drive by my parents' house to see if Mom's home.

I've just started my truck when my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. I smile when I see it's Edward.

_Shouldn't be as late as we thought. Want me to grab a pizza on the way home?_

My stomach growls just thinking about pizza, and I quickly tap out a response.

_Sure. What time will you be home?_

_Probably around 6._

That still gives me two hours alone with my thoughts, so I decide I'm still going to go see Mom.

_Sounds good. I'm going to go visit Mom for a bit._

His response takes longer than usual, but when I read it, it makes sense why.

_Are you going to tell them?_

It's true. We've known about this for just over two weeks now, and my parents still have no idea. To be fair, it's only been a couple days since we told Edward's parents, and they definitely deserved to know first. My lack of response must concern him, because he sends me a message.

_You can. They deserve to know. This concerns you as much as it does me._

I tap out a return message before deleting it and re-typing. Then I delete that one, too, before sending:

_IDK . . . I hadn't planned on it. _

Another minute passes, but instead of another text, Edward calls me.

"Hey," I say softly, relaxing back in the cab of my idling truck.

"They should know," is the first thing he says.

I sigh. "It's not really my place to tell them, though, is it?"

Edward falls silent, and I can imagine him running his long fingers through his hair. "You need someone to talk to about this." I open my mouth to say . . . _something_, but he continues. "You and your mom are close, and I know you're not as fine as you keep telling me you are. I appreciate how supportive you've been, sweetheart, but I know you're freaking out. And you have every right to."

The entire time he's been talking, I've been nodding. "Okay," I whisper.

"So—not that you need my permission, per se—but I would understand if you felt the need to tell your mom."

The thought of telling my mom somehow takes some of the pressure off of me, but at the same time, it terrifies me . . . because, if Mom knows, Dad's not going to be too far behind. How would he take the news that my boyfriend was expecting a child with another woman?

Likely, not very well; I'd have to tread lightly when telling him.

Needing to change the subject, I force a smile, hoping that it's audible in my voice. "You'll be home with dinner at six, then?"

"I will. What kind of pizza do you want?"

"Surprise me."

He chuckles, and it's the first time it's sounded genuine in a while. "Okay. I'll see you in a couple hours, then. I love you."

My stomach flips, and I feel the truth behind his declaration. Even with everything we've been forced to deal with these last two weeks, I know how I feel about Edward and how he, in turn, feels about me. "I love you, too" I reciprocate. "I'll see you soon."

We hang up with each other, and I head over to my parents' house. Mom's SUV is in the driveway, but Dad's car is nowhere to be seen. This means my chances of walking in on them in a heated embrace are non-existent. Relieved, I get out of my truck, make my way up the walk, and knock on the door twice before walking inside.

"Mom?" I call out, hearing something being set on the kitchen counter before I hear her hurried footsteps.

"Bella! Honey!" she greets excitedly, jogging through the house and toward me as I close the door. "I'm so happy to see you. How've you been? It feels like it's been forever since we've talked."

She's over exaggerating a little; while I may not call her as often as I used to, I have spoken to her a couple of times since we returned from Whistler. I don't contribute too much to the conversation, because I've really only had one thing on my mind.

"Hey, Mom," I reply, hugging her before following her into the kitchen. "Dad working?"

Mom laughs. "You know he never works Fridays. What made you assume . . .?"

I shrug. "Well, I didn't walk in on the two of you doing it, so I just took a guess."

"Ugh." Mom groans, laying her hand over her slightly distended belly. "I hate to say it, but our love life has taken a back seat to my morning sickness."

I stop dead in my tracks, completely horrified in myself for having gotten so wrapped up in my own drama that I forgot about my mom and dad's own pregnancy.

Pressure builds in my belly, and I'm uncertain how it's going to present itself until I hear the soft giggles. Mom turns to me, her eyes widening with concern, as my laughter grows louder until I'm practically doubled over in hysterics; Irina and my mother are both pregnant. And what makes this even more hilarious, is that they're probably even due around the same time. My abs hurt from laughing so hard, and I feel a couple of tears leak from my eyes.

"Bella?" Mom asks, and I look at her, wiping the tears away only to have them replaced by a couple more.

And that's all it takes to break the dam that's holding me together at the seams.

My laughter fades, replaced by the sound of my sobbing as I start to collapse in on myself. Mom is there in a flash, putting an arm around me as she guides me to the table, and she hugs me, rubbing my back as she whispers soothingly into my ear.

I didn't mean to break down—honestly I didn't think I was _this _upset—but I'm surprised by how much lighter I feel once the sobs begin to ebb. It's almost as though I've been able to let go of all the pent up emotions that have been warring inside me. While I'm still worried about how Edward and I will get through this without marring our relationship even a little, somehow shedding a few tears and seeking the comfort of my mom has helped me—even if only minutely.

"What's going on, honey?" Mom asks as I pull my head from her shoulder, sniffling. "Did you and Edward have a fight?"

I shake my head, using the backs of my hands to wipe the tears from my cheeks. "N-not exactly." I pause while my mom pushes herself off the floor and into the chair next to me, turning it to face me fully.

"Then what? Sweetie, talk to me."

I take a deep, shaky breath. While I don't feel absolutely certain that it's my place to say anything, I have to wonder if talking about it will make me feel even better than the few minutes of crying I did. "Edward's ex," I begin, choking slightly on the words, "is . . . pregnant."

"Okay," Mom replies, drawing the word out a few seconds. "And?"

Another deep breath in, and, this time, I close my eyes. "And it's his."

"What?" a loud voice booms from behind me, and I swear my heart almost stops before it plummets into my knotted stomach.

I turn around quickly, my eyes widening in alarm as I take in the very livid face of my father. "Dad . . ." His nostrils flare, and his face is beginning to turn a shade of crimson I've never before seen on him. "Daddy," I try again, only he doesn't seem entirely receptive. He doesn't move, though, either, which bodes well for Edward keeping all of his body parts.

"Wh-? How?" Mom stammers, sounding a lot like Esme did when she found out. I want to turn to her and address her, but I'm afraid of Dad sneaking out like some kind of super-soldier and heading out to find an unsuspecting Edward.

"It happened before we met," I say in a soft voice, watching my father's eyes for any sign of his rage fading. When it does—even if only a fraction—I take a relieved breath. "But he's decided to raise the baby."

"What about the mother?"

I sigh again, running my fingers nervously through my hair—a habit I realize I've picked up from Edward. The thought of this makes me smile genuinely before I continue telling my parents about Edward's current situation. They both listen intently while I explain what Edward and Irina had discussed, and also how I feel about her. When I finish telling them what I know, Dad wanders toward the fridge, opens it up, and retrieves two cans of beer. Having only ever seen him grab one at a time—unless he's watching the game and doesn't want to risk missing some winning play, or whatever—my eyes grow wide with concern.

That concern soon fades when he plunks one of the cans down in front of me before taking a seat and cracking the one in his hand.

My eyes move between him and the can in front of me several times, and he watches me. It's a test, I deduce. It has to be. No way is my cop father offering me a beer before I hit the legal age of twenty-one. He knows I've been to parties—because what college kid hasn't—but he would never _offer_ me alcohol other than the occasional glass of wine at Thanksgiving or Christmas.

"You're joking, right?" I inquire steadily. "Is this some kind of test? Because I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to have this for another eight months."

Dad takes a pull from his can and sets it down. "After what you've just told your mother and me, I'd say you've earned it."

"I don't think drowning my sorrows in hops is going to accomplish anything," I argue, even though the idea is tempting.

"So, how do you feel about what's going on?" Mom asks, and, just like that, I grab the can and crack it open.

"I'm scared," I confess, taking a small drink. "I mean, I love Edward, and I honestly don't see my future without him, you know? But I'm twenty and a student. A child could complicate things." Mom and Dad both nod, and I know they're both thinking about how they were only a couple years older than me when they became parents. "Edward says he doesn't expect me to be a mother, but how can I escape that—realistically, I mean. And . . ." I exhale loudly. "What if I'm just not ready to be a parent? This whole situation—how it happened and how I found out—has me afraid that I'll resent Edward. Or worse . . . the baby."

Mom and Dad remain silent, and I start to wonder if what I've said makes me sound like a horrible human being. "I'm sorry. That sounds awful," I say. "It's not that I question whether or not I'll love the baby—who doesn't love a baby? They're adorable—but I'm not naive enough to think that our relationship isn't about to change."

"Oh," Mom says, reaching out and placing her hand over mine. "Of course your relationship is going to change. But it's not going to change how you feel about him or him about you." She must see my reluctance, because she smiles and continues. "Yes, there will be sleepless nights and some stress in the beginning as you both learn to adjust, but it's all so worth it. The minute you see him with that baby"—her gaze travels over to my father, who's smiling back at her—"your love for him will change. But in the best way. He won't just be your partner anymore, baby. He'll be a dad."

My breath catches as I visualize the moment my mom is describing, and I feel a little bit more of my earlier apprehensions disappear. Is she right? She's never steered me wrong before, so I'm feeling obligated to trust her now. However, there's still one problem.

"Then there's Irina," I confess in a voice barely above a whisper. "I'm . . . envious of her." They continue to eye me questioningly, and my bravery wavers. "Edward's first experience with pregnancy will always be what he shared with her. Not with me. I hate to sound childish, but it's just not fair. I hate her. I hate what they shared before he even met me, and I hate that they're going to get to share this—even if she doesn't plan to be around afterward."

"Your feelings toward this woman are understandable, but it doesn't sound like either one of them intended for this to happen."

Ashamed, I hang my head, eyeing her through my lashes. "I know."

She smiles in an effort to comfort me. "Honey, he's older than you. You knew he had a past, and unfortunately he's going to be forced to remember that part of his life indefinitely." There's a pause, and I look up to see her gaze burning into mine. "He can either look at this as a mistake that needs fixing, or he can look at it as the next step in his life. And you have the power to change his outlook on this entire ordeal."

My throat feels tight as I squeak out a low, "How?"

"Listen, kiddo," Dad interjects, drawing my attention to him fully. "To answer that, I think you need to ask yourself one question: Do you love him?"

There's absolutely no hesitation between his question and my answer. "Without a doubt."

"And do you support his decision?"

Surprising myself, I reply without pause again. "Of course."

Nodding, Dad smiles and leans back in his chair again. "Then there's the answer to your own question. Your continued support will help him through this. This situation, while not ideal, has the potential to be something incredible, Bells. You just have to have the right attitude and be there for him when he needs you.

"I know it's not always going to be easy," Dad continues, "but if you love him and you can't see your life without him, then you'll need to work together to get through this. If you're feeling insecure or even just unsure about something, you have to be open and honest with him. And the same goes for him. If you two are going to make an honest go of this, you need to _talk_ to each other about how you're feeling and what your plans are." My head bobs some more. He's absolutely right; our communication could use some work.

"Your mother and I will be here to support you, Bells. And Edward. We're here to help out in any way we can—even if that's to offer you a quiet place to study should you need it."

I sit in quiet contemplation for a minute as I mull over everything we've discussed. Every day for the last two weeks, I only thought I was playing the part of a supportive girlfriend when it was my apprehensions and fears and . . . _disdain_ for Irina that had me questioning the sincerity behind it. And with all of that—or, most of it, anyway—stripped away, I now realize the truth: I've always supported Edward; I was just mentally blinded by all of the stronger emotions.

This isn't something that can just be fixed in a matter of minutes or hours . . . or even days, but I'm willing to work on it and be completely open and honest with Edward from this moment on. My parents have made it painfully clear that he needs that just as much as I do.

Mom squeezes my hand, pulling me out of my revelation, and my eyes catch hers. "Bella, when you find something worth fighting for, you hold onto it. No matter what."

I'd always known that my parents pretty much kicked ass, but they just upped the ante for all others out there. Of course, they're likely to make me forget about this the next time I catch them in a compromising position when I least expect.

I stay and visit with Mom and Dad for a bit longer. I'm happy when the subject changes, though my mind is never very far from Edward or the pregnancy. Since I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, the one beer Dad allowed me to have has gone straight to my head. I'm not drunk, but I'm feeling a little light-headed, and my arms and legs are all tingly. Obviously, I don't feel okay driving, so I ask Dad if he'd mind giving me a ride home.

Mom follows us in her SUV while Dad drives my truck, and when we arrive at the house, Edward's car is already in the driveway. Dad parks the truck, and I'm both nervous and calm—which I realize makes very little sense—to tell Edward about what I discussed with my parents this afternoon.

Turning to me, Dad holds the keys out to me and says, "This isn't something you can overcome in an afternoon, kiddo. Becoming a parent requires time to adjust—regardless of whether you share DNA with the child or not. You've got a big heart, Bells, I have no doubt that you'll make this child feel welcome and loved."

Taking my keys, I look down at them in my hands. "How are you and Mom so accepting of this? This can't be how you saw me living my life."

Dad laughs wryly. "No," he agrees. "You're right, it's not. But we're choosing to lead by example: you're making the choice to support Edward's decision, and we're supporting yours in order to make the transition into your new life easier. Yes, you're young, but you've always been a little wise beyond your years—with the odd exception here and there," he says, his voice taking on an air of jest with that last part. "We'll stand by you because we trust you'll do what's best for _you._"

My heart swells from his unwavering show of support, and I throw myself across the cab of the truck and hug him tightly. "Thanks, Dad."

"Any time, kiddo." He kisses the top of my head and then releases me. "Now, get inside and set things straight. You need to be on the same page, and it'll take time for the two of you to catch up to one another."

The minute we step out of my truck, the front door opens, and Edward looks shocked to see my parents with me. Mom stays in the SUV, but she waves to Edward, who returns the gesture, and when I look back at Dad, I see him and Edward exchange a glance. Edward looks terrified at first, but must see that my dad's not angry just . . . concerned, because his expression relaxes slightly.

I say goodbye to my parents before heading to the house, and I kiss Edward softly on my way through the front door. "Hey," I greet, pulling my jacket off.

"Hi." He still looks confused as he closes the door. "So . . .?"

I nod, answering his unspoken question. "I told them. They were . . . unexpectedly cool about it."

This only surprises him further. "Really?"

"Yeah," I reply. "But, they think we need to sit down and talk about it some more so we're on the same page. While my decision to stick by you through this hasn't changed, I've been having these . . . feelings that I need to talk about in hopes that I can move past them. I don't want any of this to come between us. Especially when we've got a pretty big change coming up in our lives." Edward's brow furrows much like it has every day over the last two weeks, and I smile, taking his hand and leading him toward the kitchen. "Come on. We'll talk over dinner."

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><p><strong>AN2: Okay, so this chapter wasn't as light as I'd initially planned, but I had to cut it in half for the sole reason that it was taking me forever to get it done. I'm not going to get into a long author's note because I'm not looking to start a debate on the situation in the story.**

**Just keep in mind that this is how I dealt with the situation in my life, and I know that not everyone would have made the same choice. This is my reality, and I'm choosing to write what I know :)**

**I know I've said a few times that this story is coming to a close soon—and it is—but not for another few chapters. While this has been plotted out for quite some time, as I write, the story tends to expand in other ways, which means that sub-plots get pushed to a farther chapter. **

**I didn't get to review replies this week, and for that I apologize. Work's been crazy, and I was working on this chapter in any spare time I had. Even my housework has suffered because of it :P I hope to make it up to you with a teaser this time around, though, as half of the next chapter is finished ;)**

**Until next week :)**

**xoxo**


	33. Communication is Key

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**I'm not going to go into epically long AN because I can't keep explaining my reasoning for taking this turn. People are either gonna love it or hate it. It is what it is, and if you can't continue on with the story, I do understand. I just hope you'll check out some of my other work to see if you find something more to your liking. **

**I've started posting the continuation of Forgive Me, Father, for I Will Sin this week, and I'm excited about it. It is marked as drama, so expect it, please. There won't be any unexpected pregnancies or anything like that. The drama is strictly that of a couple embarking in a relationship where there's 22 years between them and how others around them take the news. I do hope you'll all enjoy, because Olderward is fun to play with :) **

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><p><strong>Chapter 33. Communication is Key<strong>

We sit in the kitchen in silence for a few minutes. Not because I don't want to talk to him, but because I'm trying to figure out what to say without saying it wrong. Everything I discussed with my parents makes sense, but there's still a lot going on in my head that I need to put into order.

Through my periphery, I see Edward picking at the pineapple on his pizza and popping them in his mouth. He's nervous and trying to hide his fidgeting. I decide I should just start talking. Honesty is the best policy, and all.

"I'm still really hurt and confused about all of this."

Edward turns his head to me, but I refuse to face him just yet. If I look into his eyes, I'm afraid I'll go right back to pretending that everything is fine, and I need to get everything out in the open.

"Of course you are," he offers quietly.

"I wish I could say that this has been easy for me," I continue, "but it hasn't been. I want to support you—no, I _do_ support you—but everything's just happening so damn fast, and I don't know how to process it all." Edward's hand reaches out to touch my arm, but he hesitates halfway before pulling it back and running it through his hair instead. "I'm twenty, and we've been together for—what?—over a month now? We're still learning about each other, and now to have this thrust at us . . ." I sigh heavily, trying to gather my thoughts enough to stop my rambling. I have to tell him what I told my parents; that explanation made sense, and I don't think I was talking in circles like I seem to be now. "I'm scared, Edward. Scared about what this means for us."

"Baby," he says softly, this time reaching out for me and taking my hand in his. I can't help it anymore; I turn to look at him, and his eyes are red-rimmed and glistening. "I'm scared too. Downright terrified. I know I don't want to lose you, but I made a mistake, and I have to—"

"No," I tell him firmly, interrupting him when I remember something my parents told me. "You can't look at it that way."

"How else am I supposed to look at it?" he asks, frustration burning in his eyes.

"I don't—I don't know yet . . ."

"Just tell me what to do to fix this," he pleads, sounding desperate, his hands moving up and down my arm like he's afraid I'm going to take off and this is the only way to stay tethered to me.

I shrug, my chin wavering, and I speak before really even realizing what it is I want to say to him. "I hate her." It doesn't have anything to do with his request, but now that it's out there, I don't regret feeling it or even saying it. "Irina," I clarify, and Edward nods as though he already knew that.

"I understand that."

I shake my head and continue speaking, the words coming out faster than I expect. "No, I don't think you do. I don't _hate_ people, Edward. It's just not who I am. But Irina? I fucking loathe her. I hate that she waltzed back into your life and disrupted it. I hate that she knows things about you that I have yet to learn. And most of all? I hate that your first experience with pregnancy will be with her and not me."

An awkward pause fills the room as my last confession dangles in the air between us. My heart begins to pound, and I try to elaborate. "I know we've only been together for a short time—and maybe it's a little naive of me to even think this way after such a short period of time—but I kind of thought you and I were it for each other, and her popping up pregnant kind of throws a wrench into that fantasy.

"It'll be you and her going to doctor's appointments together, you feeling her belly when the baby kicks for the first time . . . and me? I'll be forced to—what?—stand back and watch from the corner with a smile on my face? I'm sorry, but it's not fair, and I'm afraid that experiencing something as intimate as pregnancy with a woman you have a long history with is bound to—"

"Okay," he says, and I stop talking, confused and curious.

"Okay, what?"

"You're right," he replies. "It's not fair to you. Any of it." He falls silent for a minute, locking eyes with me. "I'll forego it all."

His offer shocks me, and my mouth opens and closes several times before I'm finally able to utter, "Wh-what do you mean you're forego it _all_? Edward, I didn't mean—"

"The appointments," he clarifies me. "I don't need to go to them . . ." His words hang there for a minute while he takes a deep breath. "And besides, if the situation were reversed, I know damn well I wouldn't like the idea of Jake accompanying you to this sort of appointment."

The visual of _that _scenario makes me shudder.

"Edward, I can't ask you to do that," I argue, even though the second the offer is voiced, it's all I seem to want.

"You're not asking, sweetheart. I'm telling you I won't go." I continue to stare at him, bewildered, and he offers me a comforting smile. "By choosing to support me through this, you'll already be giving up so much, so if this is the one thing I can do to help you find some semblance of peace, then I'll gladly forego it."

"Edward—"

"You're twenty, and I know you didn't bank on any of this happening when we first got together—neither of us did—and I'm sorry for that. You had a plan, and I fucked it up in the blink of an eye when I was feeling desperate for companionship." He cradles my face in his left hand. "Why didn't you tell me all of this in the beginning?"

"Because it makes me sound like a self-entitled brat."

Edward smiles. "No," he says, his thumb stroking my cheek once before pulling his hand away. "It makes you sound human, and I can't fault you for feeling this way. If Irina is serious about playing the role of a surrogate before signing over her rights, then she should have no problem treating this as a business transaction. I'll call my lawyer first thing Monday morning and have him start the paperwork."

A part of me wants to tell him that none of this is necessary, that I'm capable of acting like a mature adult while he runs off to doctor's appointments with his baby's biological mother, but I can't. "Thank you," is my response instead, and I'm more than happy with it.

I'm letting the selfish twenty-year-old have her way this time, and I don't care what anyone thinks.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?" Edward asks after a moment of quiet contemplation.

I've already vented about so much, and there's really only one thing left to bring up . . .

"The cabin," I whisper, and his forehead creases while I carry on. "It felt like you were trying to buy your way out of this entire thing. Like, you knew how upset I was, and you figured that throwing a little bit of money at the problem would just make it go away."

"That's what you thought?" he asks, seeming quite stunned that this is how I'd taken it. "Bella, that's not what I meant at all."

"I know," I reply. "Deep down, I know that, but the timing of it made it seem that way."

"I'm sorry." He sounds sincere, and I appreciate it. "I didn't even realize that's how you'd taken it."

I shake my head. "It's fine. I should have said something instead of just telling you I'd think about it. I just didn't want to upset you since you'd been through so much."

"Hey," he interjects. "_Never_ feel like you can't talk to me about whatever's bothering you. Even if you think it might hurt my feelings. I know with everything going on right now, it might not seem like it, but you mean everything to me, and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel anything less than important. I'll do better."

Now that everything's being aired out between the two of us, I definitely feel better—not a hundred percent, but I think in time I could be there. While I'm still not sure about the whole "mom" thing, I'm feeling a little more okay with welcoming a baby that's half of the man I love into my life.

**::: Rm w/a Vu :::**

It's been a week since Edward and I talked about everything, and every day that goes by seems to get a little easier. As promised, Edward not only talked to Irina about his involvement in the pregnancy, but he spoke with his lawyer about the legal proceedings for when the time comes for Irina to sign over her rights to the child. The lawyer did mention that it isn't unheard of for the mother to change her mind at the last minute, so when Edward tells me this, I worry a little.

"If that happens, I'll waive my rights," he told me before I could even say anything. "Without question. If she decides she wants the baby after all is said and done, I won't fight her on it."

I was stunned speechless. "You'd really do that?"

"I would."

Irina assured him after he learned this from his lawyer that it was unlikely that she'd change her mind, but she accepted his choice without a fight. Honestly, I don't think she was upset about his choosing to forego the appointments or anything, and this kind of surprised me a little. I know Edward told me that Irina didn't want him back, but I guess a little part of me wondered if that was just something she was saying in hopes that she could con him into going through this with her and remembering how they felt about each other once upon a time.

It would appear I was wrong, because Edward said she seemed more than okay with him not tagging along.

In addition to talking to his lawyer and Irina, he'd also finally told Emmett and Rose. I haven't seen either of them in a few weeks—not since before we went to Canada, actually—but Edward says that they were both shocked, and I kind of developed a little girl crush on Rosalie when Edward told me that Emmett had to restrain her before she could hop in her car and hunt Irina down.

Okay, so it was more than just a little crush; had I been there, I probably would have kissed her.

It's just after three on Saturday afternoon, and I'm just stepping through the front door after working the morning shift at the cafe. Edward will be at work until about six, so I figure I'll get a little laundry and cleaning done before he gets back. Maybe I'll even put a casserole together for dinner.

I go through my and Edward's laundry, sorting it into piles in the basement before starting the first load, and when I return upstairs, I'm stunned to see Rosalie walking through the front door.

"Oh, hey," she says with a bright smile. "I knocked, but I suppose you didn't hear me from the basement. How've you been?"

"Good." At this point, this response is habit. Not that it's far from the truth anymore. I am _good_. "Tea?" I offer with a smile, leading the way to the kitchen.

Rosalie sits at the island while I fill the tea kettle and prepare the cups. "Milk and sugar?" I ask over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of Rosalie watching me aptly.

"He's right," she says, confusing me. "You are good at this."

Turning around, I eye her curiously. "Good at what?"

"Pretending that everything is all right, and that the world is made up of sunshine and kittens."

I laugh, the sound coming from deep in my belly and sounding more genuine than I can remember. "Is he still worried about me?" I ask. "Because we talk about everything almost daily, and I really am feeling better."

"But you're still struggling, right?"

I shrug in response to her question. "I suppose, but I wouldn't say that's unusual given the circumstances."

There's a brief period of silence before it's broken by the shrill whistle of the tea kettle, and while I pour the water into our cups, Rose speaks up again. "He does seem to think you're doing better, actually. I just had to see it for myself, because, if it were me in this situation . . . Well, I'm honestly not sure how I'd be doing. I'd like to think I'd be able to stick by Emmett through anything, but this is a tough situation."

I smile, and for the first time in weeks, I feel the conviction in my words before I even speak them. "I do it because I love him. I know that some people probably don't think that's enough, but it's enough for me. I know I'm young, but when I look into the future, all I see is Edward and me, doing what we love and raising our family.

"Now, this isn't to say I'm not still a little scared about what's going to happen when Edward brings that baby home, because I am. But not for the reasons that I was before," I continue, placing Rosalie's tea in front of her and sipping my own.

She adds a bit of milk and sugar to her cup, stirring it while meeting my gaze again. "Can I ask what you're scared of?"

I exhale softly, almost a nervous laugh, and I shrug. "Originally, I hated the idea that Edward's first experience with pregnancy would be with _her_, and it was very upsetting. Bordering on jealous, even. I mean, they have a long history, and there were feelings there once upon a time, you know?"

"I do," she replies. "But you should know that what he feels for you goes above and beyond what he ever felt for Irina. It's like night and day, Bella. Even if he was going to all of these appointments, do you really think this experience would be a memorable one? Sure, he might remember it, but I can't imagine that going through this with an ex and going through it with the woman he's madly in love with would even compare."

Until Rose voices this, it's something I never really thought of before.

"Think about it: he'd experience the appointments and maybe a kick or two. It's not like she was going to shack up here so he could experience every little thing, right?"

"Well, no . . ."

"I'm not saying that his decision to keep his involvement with Irina to the bare minimum was a bad one—it's honestly best for the both of you—but he wouldn't experience half the stuff with her that he will when the two of you decide to have babies of your own. He'll be living with you—the future mother of his children. You'll get foot rubs after a long day at work, lower back massages; you'll get to send him out for the most ridiculous pregnancy cravings . . . _That's _going to be what he remembers as his first experience with pregnancy: going through every minute of it with the woman he loves."

She pauses for a minute, her eyes dropping to her teacup. "But you need to be sure that this is what you want, Bella," she says sombrely. "You're young, and have confessed to not being ready to be a mother—which I totally get. I just want to make sure that you're doing what you want and not what you think everyone expects. Your feelings matter in all this."

Her concern is sweet, and I appreciate it, but I'm at peace with my decision. "Thanks, Rose. And I am sure. Yes, I said I wasn't ready to be a mom, but I think that's just because I'm still afraid of a few things," I admit.

"Like what?" Rose shakes her head, laughing. "Sorry. I'm being nosy. If you don't want to talk about it anymore, that's fine."

"No, it's fine," I assure her before I try to put into words my next apprehension. "When I first started to envision our future together, I figured all of the kids I'd imagined would be ours—biologically, I mean—but now that's changed." Pausing, I choose my next words carefully. "There will always be this child who I fear I won't be as close with because I wasn't given those nine months to bond with it. And I suppose that's why I feel I'm not ready to be its mother."

"Oh, Bella," Rose interjects softly. "I think that would make more sense if you weren't dating the one guy that could disprove that theory."

Realization dawns on me just then: Edward is _adopted_.

**::: Rm w/a Vu :::**

The entire time I'm in my truck, I can't get over the fact that I'd forgotten Edward was adopted. I mean, it's not like we talked about it daily, but given my apprehension that I might never view this child as a part of _my _family in the future, you'd think it would have occurred to me at some point or another.

But, no. It took someone else to point it out.

Rosalie stayed long enough to finish her tea before Emmett texted her back to the office. Turns out he and Edward didn't really know what she was doing that afternoon, just that she'd requested to step out of the office for a few minutes. It was sweet of her to come talk to me, and I truly appreciated that she seemed concerned for Edward and me. She really is a good friend.

When I pull to a stop outside my destination, I take a deep breath. My heart beats like a jackhammer against my ribs as I put the truck into park and turn it off, but there's only one person I can think of who can help me make sense of what I'm feeling.

I make my way up the front walk, confident but also a little nervous, and when I reach the door, I quickly knock before I lose my nerve. It doesn't take long for the door to open, and I'm greeted with a shocked, but exuberant, Esme.

"Bella, dear!" she greets, wrapping me in her arms enthusiastically. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Oh, you know," I say, returning her embrace. "I was in the neighbourhood."

"Considering you and Edward live clear across town, I find that hard to believe," she teases, stepping off to the side and silently inviting me into her home.

It's beautiful, decorated in rich colours with expensive–looking art adorning the walls. It doesn't shock me considering she's in the design trade and all, but it's the first time I've ever been here . . . and I'm here without Edward, which is why she thinks something is up.

"How've you been, honey?" she asks, leading me through the house.

"Pretty good," I reply as we step into her sun-filled kitchen.

"Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?"

"Um, water would be fine. Thank you," I tell her, sitting at the small kitchen table.

Esme fills two tall glasses with water from the refrigerator before coming and joining me. "And how's Edward doing? Everything with . . ." She pauses, still clearly not comfortable with everything. "Everything's good?"

Nodding, I smile. "Yes. Everything is fine."

She eyes me sceptically. "Clearly not _everything_," she predicts. "What's going on?"

I wrap both hands around my chilled glass and stare down at its contents, seeing the warped view of my hands through the water, and I sigh. "Edward was adopted," I say softly.

"Yes," Esme responds, confusion haloing the word. "But that's no secret."

"No," I quickly add on. "No, of course it isn't . . . I suppose I was just curious about how you and Edward's father, um, bonded with him. I mean, it's so clear that you're all close, but weren't you afraid that not sharing something on a biological level might keep that from happening?"

I briefly glance up from my glass to see realization spark in her blue eyes. "Oh, I see. You're worried you won't feel as close to the child as Edward will because you don't share DNA."

"More or less," I answer honestly.

Esme reaches across the table and places a slender hand on my arm, drawing my eyes to hers fully. "Sweetheart, it's not the blood that runs through your veins that allows you to love another person," she says. "It's the size of your heart.

"Welcoming Edward into our home was one of the happiest moments of our lives . . . But it was also the scariest," Esme confesses candidly. "Carlisle and I had been trying to conceive for years before we were told it would likely never happen naturally. We were presented with options, but back then, IVF wasn't as successful as it is now, and surrogacy wasn't a well-known option yet either." Her smile widens as she remembers this story, and it's infectious. "Carlisle and I always knew we wanted a child, so after a lot of discussion, we decided that we'd adopt. One year after filling out our applications, we brought Edward home, and we've never looked back."

"Were you worried about . . . anything?"

"We worried about _everything_," she assures me. "I'd be lying if I told you I didn't worry that I'd be lacking some kind of maternal bond with my child because I didn't carry him in my womb for nine months, Bella, but the minute I looked into his eyes, I knew he was my son. I could feel it . . . on a much deeper level than anything remotely biological."

Something else starts to niggle at the back of my mind, and I bite my lip gently before releasing it. "How are you and Carlisle dealing with the news?"

"The circumstances are far from ideal," Esme admits, "but we're coming around. One day at a time. Like you, dear. And you're sure you're okay with all of this? It's a lot for someone as young as yourself to take on so early in a relationship."

"Oh, yeah," I tell her honestly. "I'm confident in my decision, I'm just afraid about being unable to develop a bond with the child. Oddly, I'd probably be freaking out less if it'd been me that got knocked up." I'd meant that last part as a joke, but neither Esme nor I laugh. "Sorry."

"Listen, honey, Irina carrying my first grandchild doesn't mean she's _giving_ me my first grandchild . . . do you understand?" My eyebrows pull together in my obvious confusion, and I shake my head while she tries to explain. "I know Edward's not pressuring you, and I commend him for that, but I need you to know that just because _you're_ not pregnant doesn't mean you're not giving me a grandchild. It's your influence that will shape and mould this child. He or she will pick up your personality traits and habits over the years. Not Irina's. She's not going to be a part of this child's life. You and Edward are. She'll have no say on how to raise this child. That will be Edward—and you, should you decide you're ready for the responsibility."

It's a perspective I'd never before considered, and one I probably never would have come to had I not had this talk with Esme. The apprehensions are still present—which is probably to be expected—but they're far less severe than they used to be.

"Thank you, Esme," I tell her, standing up. "For everything. This has helped—more than anything, actually."

"I'm glad." Esme stands up and wraps an arm around me as she escorts me to the front door. "I know you've probably heard this from everyone you've talked to, but I'm here to lend an ear if you ever need to talk about this again. I do understand what you're experiencing, so I'm here to help in whatever way I can. Carlisle, too."

I thank her again, hugging her and telling her we'll have them over for dinner again soon before heading to my truck and going home. When I pull into the driveway, I'm surprised to see Edward's car is already here—two hours early.

When I walk through the front door, I find Edward coming up from the basement. "Hey," he greets with a smile. "I just swapped the laundry over . . . Where've you been?"

"Oh, um, visiting your mom, actually," I tell him. There's no sense in keeping anything from him, because I wouldn't want him to keep anything from me, and we'd promised to be open and honest about everything from now on.

"Yeah? Did you have a good visit, then?"

I nod. "We did. I just had a couple of questions for her about . . . well, you, actually."

"You talked about _me_?" He seems nervous, which is adorable but unwarranted.

"I had questions about your relationship with them, and your mom helped me understand that what I'm feeling is natural." Edward and I move into the living room and sit on the couch while I tell him about the talk I'd had with his mother.

"It's not that I worried about _not_ loving the child," I assure him, "I was only worried how I would feel should we eventually have children of our own. But your mom made me see that blood doesn't equate to love."

Smiling, Edward takes my hand and threads his fingers between mine before kissing it. "She's a very smart woman," he tells me. "You'd be wise to listen to her."

His lips brushing the back of my hand makes my skin tingle. It's been two weeks since we've made love, and this is the first time since then that I've felt that familiar desire return. There'd been the occasional moment where we'd touch or kiss in the last fourteen days, but I was still struggling with this news and was afraid I'd only regret it the next day like last time.

In the last two weeks, Edward and I have made some pretty huge accomplishments in regards to our communication, so maybe . . .

I lean in slowly, my gaze holding his as I bring my other hand up and place it on his neck, my fingers weaving into the short hairs there. Lust and desire surge beneath my skin, making it crackle and hum as I move close enough that my lips brush Edward's, and just before I'm about to close that infinitesimal gap, Edward speaks.

"Let me take you out," he breathes. "On a proper date. It's been so long since we've gone out and enjoyed ourselves. I'd say we deserve it after everything."

My fingers curl against his neck, tugging his hair lightly as I press my lips gently to his. "A date?" With a sigh, I nod. "Yeah, I think I'd like that . . . it's not as though I started dinner like I'd originally planned."

Edward laughs. "Even if you had, I'd suggest we store it in the fridge for tomorrow night. I need to take my girl out and show her how much I appreciate her."

I arch an eyebrow at him and shake my head. "You are such a sap."

While I get ready, Edward makes dinner reservations for six and acquires movie tickets for nine. This gives me an hour to get ready, so I quickly shower, blow-dry my hair into loose waves, and apply a bit of makeup before slipping into a nice pair of skinny jeans and a strapless emerald green top that fits my body perfectly. I forego my bra, but because it's still a bit chilly out, I grab a simple black cardigan to put over my top and then grab a pair of black heels.

Ready, I make my way downstairs to find Edward waiting with my jacket in his hands and a wide smile on his face. "You look amazing, Bella."

"Thanks." I look him over and admire how his v-neck sweater fits his upper body—not too tight, but not baggy enough that I can't make out the shape of his body—and how his jeans rest on his hips. His bronze hair is deliberately tousled, and my fingers itch with the desire to run through it. "You too."

Holding up my jacket, Edward's eyes brighten. "Shall we?"

It feels like it's been forever since we went on an actual date, and I revel in every minute of Edward's chivalrous behaviour. He opens my car door for me when I get in and when we arrive at the restaurant, opens the restaurant door for me and waits for me to go inside first. Then, even though he sits across from me at our small two-person table in the romantically-lit restaurant, he takes my hand in his and we talk as though everything is right in the world. And for the first time in weeks, it actually feels like it is. Yes, Edward's having a baby, but after confiding in him and everyone else that I love, I've finally found peace with it. There will still be some adjusting to do, but that's to be expected.

We both place our dinner orders with our server—a kind woman named Siobhan—and then we start talking about our day. Edward tells me that he and Emmett are looking at signing another up-and-coming baseball player for the Diamondbacks, and that, come March, he'll probably have to fly out to Chicago.

This then presents the question: how will he travel once the baby comes?

When I ask, Edward is quick to answer, having just had this discussion with Emmett and Rosalie today after they decided to pursue this player. "Well, I'll likely take the first few months off with the baby. The fact that I own part of the agency will allow for that as I can still do some work from home if need-be. Emmett and Rosalie can handle all the travelling, and should I _have _to, my mom can take the baby for a few days. But I'd prefer to not do any travelling if I can help it in that first year or two."

It relieves me that he's got it all figured out . . . but, at the same time, it stings a little that I hadn't been mentioned as a childcare option. This surprises me, and I know I shouldn't take it personally, because I'm sure he's just made this plan due to the fact that I'm still in school and have voiced that I'm not quite _there_ yet.

And, as though he's reading my mind, he squeezes my hand. "Obviously, you'd be my first option, saving the baby from having to go to my parents' house, but you'll be in school, and I could be called out at a moment's notice. Not to mention, I don't want you to feel obligated."

Forcing a smile, I shake my head as though to dismiss my feelings of being overlooked. "Yeah, of course. That makes perfect sense." His reasoning is just as I thought . . . so why do I feel this way?

Our server returns with our dinner, and Edward and I go about eating while carrying on a conversation about the week ahead. When dinner is over, Edward pays the bill and helps me into my jacket again before we leave the restaurant and head to the movie theatre.

We walk through the theatre parking lot hand-in-hand, stepping inside and handing the theatre employee our tickets. Edward decided on an action-based movie with a bit of romance filled in, and I was okay with that . . . mainly because there were hot guys littered throughout the film.

As the film went on, Edward went from holding my hand to resting his hand flat on my thigh—that was my favourite connection . . . right up until he started moving his thumb back and forth along the inner seam of my jeans and sparking the desire I felt earlier in the evening.

Of course, the unresolved sexual tension between the two lead characters only makes my situation a little more unbearable, and by the end of the movie, I'm feeling ready to jump him at the first opportunity.

The drive back to the house is even more frustrating, because Edward keeps his hands on the wheel and the gear-shift. Just like the day we went paint-balling. I imagine a big explosion of lust once we get inside, and it's something I look forward to.

Once we're parked in the driveway, Edward opens my door again and we walk up to the door. He opens it, disengages the alarm, and we step through before he locks the door. There's still no touching or kissing, and I'm about to take matters into my own hands when Edward smiles.

"Thanks for letting me take you out tonight. I'd like to make this a weekly occurrence from here on out so we're always making time for each other," he tells me, taking my hand and leading me to the stairs.

Butterflies flourish in my belly as he leads me upstairs and down the hall toward his room. "Yeah, that would be great. I had fun tonight." We stop just outside his room, and I lean against his doorframe, looking up at him coyly and running a finger up and down his chest before gripping his sweater in my fist just below its collar. "It'd be a shame to see the night end so soon." I tug gently, and Edward smiles, bringing his face down to my level.

"I thought things were happening too fast?" he inquires, his voice deep and gravelly as his hands move to my hips, pulling them toward him. "You wanted time to figure things out."

"I know," I confess, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "But I miss you . . . I miss _us_."

A rush of warmth washes over my body as we stand in his doorway, staring at each other silently—expectantly—and I can feel desire building between us before I close the small distance and kiss him. As our lips find a rhythm, there is no hesitation, no concern, and no need to forget like last time we made love. No. All that I can feel between us is certainty and love.

Edward's fingers curl into my hips, pulling me away from the doorframe and into his room where he starts fumbling with the buttons on my cardigan before slipping it down my arms. Once my cardigan hits the floor around my feet, Edward's hands paw desperately at my upper body before he's palming my boobs over my top. "God, Bella," he murmurs against my lips, the deep, gravelly sound of his voice vibrating beneath my skin.

I hum into the kiss, my hands moving down his body until they reach the buckle on his belt, and I quickly unfasten it before tugging his sweater up his body. We break our kiss for half a second while we pull each other's shirts over our heads, and then I crawl up onto the bed where I kneel near the edge as he stands before me. He undoes my jeans before his hands slide around my waist and down my lower back, slipping beneath the denim and palming my ass to pull me forward.

My pulse thumps through my veins, a tingle starting between my thighs as Edward's fingers curl into the flesh of my backside. It's been so long since I've felt connected to him, and I crave the intimacy we once shared. It's been great connecting with him through open communication, and we've gotten to know each other even better for it, but I'm ready to get back to where we were before everything happened.

Edward's lips travel along my jaw before wandering down my neck and over my shoulder while I draw my gaze down to where my fingers work shakily to unfasten the button and zipper on Edward's jeans. Once I've succeeded, I begin pushing them down over his hips, taking his boxers with them, and he follows suit, forcing mine down my thighs. When they reach my knees, he smirks, hooks his hands behind them, and pulls hard, knocking me onto my back, giggling hard. With a chuckle, he yanks my jeans from my ankles, kicking free from his as well, but instead of joining me on the bed, he picks up my right leg and starts kissing my inner ankle.

His lips follow the blazing trail his hands set, and my legs begin to tremble the minute he reaches the inside of my knees. He's taking his time, which is causing the passion in the room to thicken and the sexual tension to mount. The pulse between my legs increases, and I've turned into a whimpering mess, pleading with him between moans as his fingers graze my warm, wet flesh.

"Scoot back," he rasps, and I comply all too eagerly while he joins me on the bed—but not in the way I'd expected. Instead, he kneels between my legs, and I bite my lip in an attempt to hold back another whimper. I fail with the first swipe of Edward's tongue, and I think I feel his lips curl up against my bare flesh.

Pressure builds steadily throughout my entire body, and I hook my feet behind Edward's arms, pulling him closer. His fingers curl into my thighs, elevating my hips off the bed slightly, and a tremble works its way through my body until I'm fisting the blanket and writhing on the bed as his tongue continues to work my body into a frenzy.

The pressure he uses alternates between soft and firm, and soon his teeth graze my clit, pushing me over the edge and into ecstasy. As I try to catch my breath, Edward places gentle kisses to my flesh, not forgetting about each thigh and working his way up over my hip bones and lower abdomen.

My legs are numb and fall open to accommodate Edward between them as he flattens his hand over my stomach and moves it up and down the smooth skin, making it flutter beneath his warm touch. He places tender kisses there, and when he lifts his eyes to meet mine, I see several different emotions: love, admiration, and contrition. It's then that I fully understand his actions for what they are . . . and I don't want him feeling guilty that it isn't me who's pregnant.

I lift my arms off the bed, reaching for him, and he smiles. "Come here," I whisper as he crawls up the length of my body and nestles himself between my parted thighs. His erection brushes against my wet flesh, and I inhale softly, trying to keep myself from rushing this moment.

Edward sits up for a moment to grab a condom from the nightstand, soon coming back to rest between my thighs. He leans in and presses his lips to mine, kissing me hard while easing into me. When my mouth parts with a satisfied moan, Edward nibbles my bottom lip gently while he moves above me, his teeth eliciting a delightful sting of pleasure that travels beneath the surface of my skin. It makes my toes curl and my climax swell deep in my belly.

"God, Bella," Edward groans, pressing his forehead to mine and staring deep into my eyes. "I love you."

I thrust my fingers into his hair, my body beginning to tremble with my impending orgasm, and I sigh. "I love you, too," I reply breathlessly as the first wave washes over me, and it's not too long before I'm overcome with pleasure and pulling Edward under with me.

As we lie tangled in each other's arms, our hammering hearts trying to find their usual rhythm, I find myself feeling closer to Edward than I have in weeks. It's the first time I feel like everything is actually going to be . . . okay.

**::: Rm w/a Vu :::**

The last two months have been pretty great. Every day that passes brings with it the feeling like everything is returning to normal between Edward and me. We've kept up with our weekly date nights, which range from dinner and a movie to picnics in the park on the nicer days. It's great having time to just focus on each other without school or work getting in the way.

This week's date night has been postponed due to Edward having to go to Chicago to finalize the contracts with his new client. It sucks, but I picked up a few extra shifts at the cafe to help pass the time, and he's due home tonight and promised to take me out to dinner.

It's early in the afternoon, and Kate has just arrived to help prepare for the expected rush of customers. She's hard at work stocking the various baked goods while I wipe the counters down when the bell over the door chimes. I brush my hands on my apron while heading over to the till, and when I look up, I'm stunned to be staring at Irina.

"Bella, hi," she says somewhat happily.

I look around me—for what? I really have no idea, but I do see Kate staring at me curiously. "Irina . . . what's up?"

"Do you . . ." she pauses, almost seeming nervous. "Do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you, if that's all right."

I glance back at Kate again, kind of hoping that she'll tell me it's too busy, but she doesn't. "Go ahead," she says. "Take your break now."

Turning back to Irina, I force a small smile. "Coffee?"

Irina laughs once, glancing down at her rounded belly. "'Fraid not," she replies. "I'll take a tea, though, if you don't mind?"

"Sure." As I prepare her tea and a coffee for myself, I find myself relieved that she's foregoing the coffee like she told Edward she would. He'd be happy to hear it. After I've got our drinks, I grab a couple of chocolate chip muffins and head over to the table that Irina has seated herself at.

Irina thanks me for the tea and muffin, and then awkward silence fills the space between us. I still don't feel thrilled to be sitting here with her—especially alone.

"Look, I know you don't like me—and you have no right to," Irina says suddenly. "But I wanted to come by and talk to you."

"How did you even know I worked here?" I interject, my tone coming out sharper than I'd intended.

Irina smiles. "Edward and I talked before the paternity test. I was genuinely curious about you, and he was all too willing to talk about you. It's nice to see him so happy." Lifting her cup, Irina takes a sip and then continues. "I wanted to thank you, actually."

I sputter on the drink of coffee I'd just taken. "Thank me? For what?"

"For keeping Edward from joining me at the appointments. It's been—"

"That was all his idea," I interrupt. "I only went along with it."

Irina smiles again, and I find myself loathe to admit that she's actually quite pretty when she's not acting like a bitch. "Regardless of whose idea it was, I'm appreciative of it. It helps keep me detached from . . . well, everything." Inhaling deeply, almost like she's looking for a reserve of strength, she shrugs. "I've been having all of these extra emotions lately, and I think that it would be harder for me if he were tagging along, you know?"

My jaw clenches, and I try to keep from crushing my coffee cup in my hand. "I do."

"I almost terminated it," Irina confesses quietly, averting her gaze and looking outside, her brow furrowing.

I release my cup, relaxing my jaw and wipe my now-sweating palms on my apron-covered thighs. "W-what?"

"I'd made the appointment and was at the clinic," she continues, her eyes starting to glisten with tears. "But I couldn't go through with it . . . not without telling Edward. Just because I knew what I wanted, didn't mean he didn't deserve a choice in the matter." She turns to face me again, one of her tears escaping, but she swipes it away with a fingertip. "I didn't realize he was in a relationship, and I didn't tell him to get him back. I told him because he had a right to know."

"D-does Edward know this?" I ask, and Irina shakes her head.

"I wasn't sure it was really relevant considering I ducked out at the last minute and involved him." After sniffling once more, Irina smiles. "I'm sorry. I didn't come here to tell you that . . . I guess I'm still feeling a little guilty about it." She pauses again, reaching into her purse for something. "Anyway, another reason I'm here is because I wanted to drop this off with you." She hands me a medium-sized yellow envelope, which I take. "I've been texting Edward updates every few weeks as requested, letting him know that everything is going well, and yesterday was the twenty-week ultrasound. I had them print out a picture, and they even recorded it onto a disc for Edward."

I can't help but stare at this envelope, more curious than I've ever been about anything, because inside is a recording of Edward's baby. My stomach clenches, and I find myself wanting to watch it immediately.

"Also, I didn't know if Edward wanted to know the sex, but I had them write it out on a piece of paper and put it inside that envelope," Irina continues, and my curiosity grows even more. "I don't know what it is, because it's none of my concern, but it's there for the two of you—or, just Edward," she quickly amends. "Whatever you guys have decided."

"Thanks," I whisper, my voice raspy, so I clear my throat. "I'll be sure to give this to him when he gets home tonight. He'll appreciate it."

"Great." Irina tips her cup back and finishes her tea before slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I'd have mailed it, but I didn't want to run the risk of it getting lost along the way."

Nodding, I stand with her. "That was thoughtful of you."

Irina thanks me for the tea and muffin—which she takes with her in a to-go bag—and is about to turn to leave when she stops, placing her hand on her belly. "Oh! Tell him the baby has started kicking. It's very active and quite strange, but I'm told the constant movement is a good sign."

My fingers itch with the urge to reach out and touch her belly, but that would be weird on so many levels. Before now, I never would have thought that I'd want anything to do with this woman, but I'm feeling . . . things. Things I can't begin to explain or understand.

I promise to tell Edward, and Irina takes that as her cue to leave, telling me she'll continue to send the updates to Edward. Long after she's gone, I'm still standing in the middle of the cafe, holding this envelope in my hands and suddenly counting down the minutes until my shift ends.

Thankfully, the afternoon rush starts and doesn't really let up until the end of my shift. After I tidy up my area, I say goodnight to Kate and Paul and slip out of the cafe and into my truck. Edward's plane is expected to land any time, which means he should be home within the next hour or so. This gives me just enough time to grab a quick shower and change my clothes.

Once I'm inside, I put the envelope from Irina on the table by the front door and rush upstairs to get ready. The entire time I'm in the shower, I think about the contents of the envelope and find myself unable to contain my excitement. It's weird; while I'd accepted the situation for what it is, I didn't think that something like this would have me this keyed up. What does it mean?

After finishing up my shower, I quickly blow-dry my hair and pull on jeans and a fitted sweater before heading downstairs to wait for Edward in the living room. On my way, I snatch the yellow envelope off the small table and take it with me to the couch where I open it and pull out its contents: a DVD in a jewel case and a smaller white envelope that contains the sex of Edward's child and the ultrasound picture. Curiosity gets the best of me and I pick it up to hold it against the light streaming through the huge living room window.

The paper must be folded in half, though, or the envelope is made of good quality paper, because I can't see anything. I'm tempted to open the envelope, but it's not mine, so I settle for flipping it over and over in my hands until I hear the front door open and Edward drop his suitcase by the door.

"Hey," he says as I turn around to see him coming my way. His eyes go from mine to the envelope in my hand, and then to the disc on the coffee table. "What've you got there?"

"Irina dropped it off for you," I tell him as he rounds the couch and sits next to me, kissing me lightly.

Hearing this seems to have shocked him. "She stopped by the house?"

I shake my head. "No. She came by the cafe to talk to me and give me this for you." I hand him the envelope and he's about to open it when I stop him. "Wait!" His right eyebrow lifts, confused, so I explain. "The twenty-week ultrasound was yesterday. The techs gave her a recording of it or something, and in here"—I point at the envelope—"is a picture as well as the sex of the baby." I shrug. "She said she wasn't sure if you wanted to know, so she had them write it down for you."

Edward stares at the envelope, almost uncertain, so I place my hand over his. "You don't have to decide right this minute . . . maybe you want to watch the video first?" He raises his eyes to me and nods. "Okay, I'll put it in."

I pick up the jewel case with trembling hands and walk over to the TV and DVD player. I pop the disc onto the tray and turn the TV on before joining Edward on the couch again. After setting the envelope back on the table, he takes my hand in his and waits for me to push _play_ on the remote.

The screen is black for a few minutes before there's a flicker and then a strange blue image takes up a portion of the screen. I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking at, at first, but as my eyes examine the curves and contours of the black to blue ratios, I finally make out the shape of a baby, and my hand tightens in Edward's while a tiny flutter that begins in my belly and works its way into my throat where I choke back a tiny gasp.

The blue portion moves slightly, and as it shifts, I lean closer, staring hard until I make out the baby's tiny arms and legs kicking and flailing about. My nose begins to tingle and my eyes sting as I'm overcome with emotion, and my lips curl up into a smile so big it makes my cheeks hurt. "Edward," I whisper, bringing my other hand over to grab onto his shirtsleeve.

Then a steady _woosh_ sound fills the room, and I cock my head to listen carefully, unsure what it is I'm hearing . . . at first. Realization dawns on me, and my fingers curl into Edward's forearm. "Is that . . .?"

Through my periphery, I see Edward nod. "The heartbeat."

I'm not sure what's happening to me at first, but something inside me seems to click into place, and I find that, for the first time, I'm _excited_ . . . nervous, still, but there's definitely excitement fighting for first place in my heart.

The screen goes black, and I'm slightly disappointed until Edward picks up the envelope. He looks over at me with a smile on his face. "I kind of want to know . . ."

Still smiling, I bite my bottom lip contemplatively and nod in agreement. "Me too."

Before either one of us can change our mind, Edward tears the white envelope open and takes the ultrasound image out first. I take it from him after he's had a look and hold it, running the tip of my index finger over the profile of the baby's face, noticing that it looks a little like Edward. I hear the crinkle of paper next to me and turn my head to see Edward holding a small folded piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger, and before I can even take my next breath, he opens it, holding it out for both of us to see . . .

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><p><strong>AN2: There it is. Bella's "aha" moment. There's still some coming around to be done, but that's true of any parent/step-parent. This chapter was still a little heavy, but I hope that the few moments of lightness that I've infused helped to alleviate that. There was still so much Bella needed to hear/learn about what she's feeling, and now that she's figured out what's going on, we're going to be able to sit back and enjoy the rest of this journey ;)**

**I failed on review replies again, and I really have to stop promising to get to them. I figure that the whole chapter is always nicer than a quick reply, though, right? ;)**

**Until next week :)**

**xoxo**


	34. Best Laid Plans

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 34. Best Laid Plans<strong>

I stare at the piece of paper in my hands for a minute, my mind whirling a mile a minute as I try to wrap my head around everything that's happened since I got home from my business trip to Chicago. I hadn't been expecting this surprise upon getting home. I'd expected Bella to be ready for our date—which she is—and then I was going to take her to Different Pointe of View, the restaurant we went to on our first official date.

I'd decided on revisiting the restaurant in hopes that Bella and I would be able to remember the simpler times of our relationship. While I know that things can never go back to what they once were, exactly, I want us to at least try to regain some semblance of what we used to have. Over the last few weeks, we've made it a routine to go out once a week on an actual date. I realize that we've got all the privacy in the world right at home, but getting out of the house and doing something fun is nice, and it helps us unwind after a long week of work—or in Bella's case, school and the few shifts she works at the cafe.

When I stepped through that door and saw Bella holding a blank envelope and looking anxious, my curiosity was piqued. Hearing that Irina stopped by her work to drop this off for me concerned me, because I'm still not sure I can trust her intentions when it comes to Bella. She's been oddly accepting of everything we've discussed—my not accompanying her to the appointments, signing over her rights—and it worries me that maybe she could hold some kind of grudge toward Bella and just be lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike. However, hearing that she only stopped by to drop off the ultrasound results was a bit of a shock. She didn't try to cause trouble, and Bella seems fine considering she came face-to-face with Irina for the first time since we came back from Canada.

We watched the ultrasound DVD together, and it was incredible. Bella held my hand in a solid show of support while we watched the black and blue image on the TV flicker and move around. So many emotions rolled through me—excitement, anxiousness, apprehension, elation—and I think Bella must have felt something similar, because her hold on my hand tightened as she whispered my name.

The entire time we sat on the sofa, I thought back to when she told me how she was afraid that my first experience with pregnancy would always be with Irina and not with her. I understood this fear, and did what I could to help assuage it, even if I knew that whatever I experienced with Irina would never compare to what I knew I would share with Bella in the future. Deciding to forego any of the pregnancy appointments with my ex was the best decision I made, because I couldn't imagine sharing this moment with anyone else in the world other than Bella. She may not be the one carrying this child, but this was an experience I knew that both of us would never forget.

Then we heard the heartbeat, and my own heart sped up. It was the most incredible sound, and I could tell by the way Bella held onto me that she felt the same way—or something close, at the very least.

The minute I picked up that envelope, and she told me she wanted to know the sex of the baby, I knew that this experience was huge for her—for us—and I didn't waste any time opening it.

Which brings us back to right now . . .

We stare at the piece of paper for a few minutes, taking in the word that's scrawled across it and letting it sink in before we turn to each other with matching Cheshire cat grins.

"A boy," Bella says in a wavering voice, throwing her arms around my neck and holding me tight. "You're having a _boy_."

Her fingers tease the short hairs at the nape of my neck as I return her embrace, closing my eyes and soaking in the moment the two of us seem to be sharing. "Still seems a little surreal," I tell her.

Pulling away from me slightly, she presses her lips to mine gently. "Do you want to call your parents and tell them?"

I think about this, and while I know they'd love to hear the news, I decide that I want to share this with Bella alone for a bit longer. "Why don't we go to dinner and enjoy the evening first. I can tell them tomorrow."

"You're sure?"

I nod. "Positive. It's been a long few days in Chicago, and I've been looking forward to getting back to you."

This makes her smile widen. "Me, too."

After kissing her once more, this time letting my lips linger a little longer than before, I stand up. "All right, I'm going to run upstairs and change quickly. I'll be down in a few."

It takes me all of ten minutes to change into fresh clothes and run my fingers through my hair, and when I arrive back downstairs, I find Bella still on the couch. Staring at the ultrasound picture. If ever there was a moment where I wanted to get inside her mind to know what's going through it, it's now. These last few weeks have been good for us, but had I been too presumptuous in thinking that the ultrasound made her feel the same way I do? It's possible it has actually done the opposite, making her second-guess everything.

I know I have to talk to her about it—we've kind of prided ourselves on how openly communicative we've been throughout all of this—and decide I'll do it during dinner.

"You ready?" I ask, startling her and gaining her attention. When she sniffles and wipes her eyes, my heart plummets like a lead weight into my stomach, which is a roiling mass of nausea. "Jesus . . . Are you all right?" It takes me all of two seconds to rush to her side.

Smiling, she brushes her tears from her cheeks with the pads of her fingers. "What? Oh, yeah. I'm perfectly fine."

I can't find it in myself to believe her, so I call her on it. "Bella, you're crying. In my experience, that's not the definition of 'fine.'"

Her laugh helps to assuage my concern for her a little, but not nearly enough. "These aren't sad tears, Edward," she tells me, her tone almost amused. When her eyes meet mine, I see what she means; her eyes are alight with what looks like jubilation. "I can't explain it," she begins, "but watching that DVD with you was . . . amazing. I know I said I wasn't ready to be this child's mother, but I think I'm a little more open to the idea than I was ten weeks ago."

Without a word, I pull her into my arms, pressing my face into the crook of her neck and kissing the skin there. "I don't want to pressure you, but you have no idea how happy hearing that makes me."

We remain in this position for a few minutes before Bella's stomach rumbles. "Okay, I think that's our cue to leave," I say with a chuckle, pulling her up from the couch.

She sets the picture on the coffee table and follows me to the front door, threading her fingers between mine. "Where are we going?"

Locking the front door behind us, I grin. "I figured it'd be nice to go back to where I took you on our first date."

Her excitement from hearing this is obvious by the extra spring in her step as I lead her toward my car. We fill the silence in the car with questions about our last few days apart. While we'd talked on the phone every night, it was nice to be able to talk in person—to hold her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze when she tells me about how she thought she almost failed a test yesterday. She didn't, though; she'd only psyched herself out.

When we arrive at the restaurant, I request a seat by the window again. We don't get the table we'd gotten on our first date, but the view is just as exquisite . . . and I'm not just talking about the view of the landscape.

After our server takes our order, Bella and I are given the opportunity to talk about our day, and naturally, I ask about Irina's unexpected visit.

"She was fine," Bella tells me, but there's something she's not telling me. I can feel it in the way she avoids my gaze, instead taking a sip from her soda, and I can hear it in the soft tone of her voice.

"What is it?" I ask, keeping my tone light so as not to make her think I'm upset with her; I only want to know what Irina said or did to make Bella clam up about it.

Bella sighs, leaning back in her chair and wrapping her hands around her glass. "She was perfectly friendly." She pauses, gauging my reaction before continuing. "From everything you and Heidi had said—including Irina's flavour of the month comment—I expected her to be horrible . . . I still don't like her, and I doubt I ever will, but she was civil. And I wonder if it's just residual guilt making her that way."

I may not be a mind reader, but I can tell when something's upsetting my girl, so I prod further. "Guilt? About what?" I ask, more than a little curious.

"It's not my place, nor is it really relevant anymore," she whispers, her eyes darting around the room to be sure no one was listening. My own eyes follow, seeing that everyone is too absorbed in their own conversations to be bothered with ours. When Bella sees I'm not about to let this go, she nods. "You have to promise not to get upset."

"I can't promise you that . . . not where Irina's concerned, because if she did something to upset you—"

"She didn't," Bella interrupts. "Just promise, because, as I said, it's not really relevant anymore."

After a moment of contemplation, I agree with a curt nod, and Bella leans forward, resting her arms on the table and closing her hands around mine. "She admitted to having considered terminating."

This doesn't come as much of a surprise, as it was one of the options she presented to me the day she showed up in January.

"Before she told you," Bella continues. "She'd made the appointment and backed out at the last minute." Hearing that forces me back in my seat, and I expel a large breath.

"She told you this?"

Bella's head bobs up and down. "I think it was a combination of guilt and her way of telling me that she never saw this as a way to trap you or get you back . . . Are you mad?"

I let this news sink in for a minute, and then run her question over in my head before I shake my head. "No, I'm not mad. Surprised, sure, but not mad."

"So that's what we talked about," Bella concludes. "I debated on whether or not to tell you—not because I wanted to keep it from you, but due to the relevance of it all now that she's agreed to carry through with the pregnancy."

"I appreciate you telling me," I assure her. "Really. It actually helps me understand why Irina's been acting so . . . out of character." Inhaling deeply and picking up my wine glass, I take a sip. "Anyway, let's not spend the evening talking about her. There are plenty of other things we could be discussing."

Bella smirks. "Like your baby boy?"

Laughing, I nod. "For one, yes."

"Now that you know you're having a boy, do you have any ideas on names?" She pauses briefly, almost like she's second-guessing her question. "Is that stupid? Do guys even think about that sort of thing like women do? I mean, my mom's all about baby names right now, but I don't know that my dad's really given it any thought." She's rambling, her cheeks filling with colour, and I laugh.

"I haven't given it much thought yet, no," I tell her. "All I know is I want it to mean something. To stand for something, you know?"

Bella nods. "I do. Ever since I was a little girl, I thought it would be cool to merge the names of mine and my significant others' mothers names if I had a girl." Suddenly, her face screws up with displeasure, and she shakes her head. "But I may have to rethink that plan now . . . _Renesmee_ just sounds ridiculous."

I'd just taken a sip of my wine when she said this, so needless to say, I sputter on it a little. "I'd have to agree wholeheartedly with you, sweetheart."

Bella's light giggle brings a smile to my face, and she shrugs. "I guess we still have plenty of time before we have to worry about that, anyway. So, knowing that you want the child's name to stand for something, did you have anything in mind?"

Truthfully, I'd known for some time that, if given the opportunity, I'd like to somehow incorporate my birth parents into my future. Sure, they hadn't raised me, but without them, I wouldn't be here, and without them making the decision to put me up for adoption, I wouldn't be the person I am today. It feels right, somehow.

When I tell Bella this, she watches me with wide-eyed wonder. "I think that's a lovely idea . . . not that my opinion should count for something."

I reach across the table, grabbing her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Bella, your opinion means _everything_ to me." A pink blush fills her cheeks, and she tries to cover one cheek with her free hand. "Anyway, their last name is _Masen_."

Bella's hand falls back to the table, her expression turning serious. "Masen," she repeats quietly, and I nod once, afraid and hesitant because I fear she doesn't like it. Only when her lips curl up into a smile, do I relax. "I love that."

Letting my expression mirror hers, I give her hand a squeeze before parting them as our server arrives with our meals. "All right. Then I guess Masen is on the list."

**::: Rm w/a Vu :::**

As the days go on, Bella and I grow more and more used to the idea of a baby joining our cozy little life. It's been just over a week since we found out the baby was a boy, and, just as Bella had suspected, my parents were over the moon with the news of a bouncing baby boy as their first grandchild.

We'd invited them over for brunch this past Sunday to tell them the news, and it warmed my heart to see that Bella and my mother had formed some kind of bond that I couldn't even begin to understand. They shared something now, something kindred and beautiful, and there would never be anything I could do or say to my mother to let her know how eternally grateful I am for the way she's helped Bella understand and work her way through this.

Naturally, upon finding out that a baby boy was coming into the family my mother's blue eyes widened, and I could practically see the interior design wheels kick into overdrive in her creative mind. The nursery is her favourite thing to talk about these days, and she's coming over this evening while Bella's at work to get to work on converting my game room into the perfect room for a baby boy.

I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork, finalizing contracts and transfers for various players and teams when Rosalie and Emmett walk in from lunch. They drop my takeout order on my desk—a turkey club from the diner around the corner—and they sit at their desks across the room from mine.

"So," Rosalie says after a moment of silence, "your mom's going to start with the nursery designing tonight, right?"

"She's coming over with a few ideas, yes," I tell her.

"I still can't believe you're giving up the game room," Emmett grumbles, his feet kicked up onto his desk as he tosses a football into the air and catches it. "It's a crime against nature."

Laughing, I shake my head. "We can set up in the basement, man. It won't be lost forever . . . And, besides, I can't just kick Bella out of her room."

"So you should know about what kind of furniture and stuff you'll be getting," Rosalie interjects, somewhat ignoring Emmett's griping—probably because she's more than a little excited to start shopping. She's already taken to calling herself "Auntie Rose," after all.

Having known Rose and Emmett for years, I know they have plans for a big family, so it's only natural they're both excited. Of course, Rosalie's maternal instincts kicked in when she found out about Bella's reaction, and I was happy that she was concerned enough to check in on her.

"I suppose I will," I reply, confused about where this is heading.

"Well," she says in a sweet sing-song voice, placing her elbows on her desk and propping her head in her hands as she bats her eyes at me innocently, "I was thinking you could maybe plan some sort of baby shower. You know, where people—namely me—are given a list of items to buy, and we present them to you, all wrapped up in fun, baby-themed paper and ribbons."

Chuckling, I pull the container with my lunch in it from the bag and open it. "Don't baby showers ideally have a pregnant guest of honor?" I ask. "I don't think that my situation warrants a baby shower, Rose. But thank you."

"Pffft!" Rosalie scoffs. "Just because your situation is different from some—but not most these days—doesn't mean we can't shower you and your beautiful baby boy with love and gifts aplenty." She lifts her head, clasping her hands in front of her and opening her big dark blue eyes wide. "Pretty please? I'll plan the most amazing, low-key shower. We can even wait until the sweet little bundle of joy is here—in fact, I think that would be best."

It's hard to say no to her when she begs like this—in fact, it makes me feel sorry for Emmett every time she pulls it on me, because I can guaran-damn-tee you that she uses this little trick with him more than she does with me. The poor bastard. So, when I cave and tell her she can plan the shower for after the baby arrives, she claps excitedly and fires up her computer. I'd like to believe she's about to dive into work, but I know better; she's party planning. Normally, I'd frown upon this, but she doesn't really have anything urgent that needs to be done, so I let it slide. Plus, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little excited about this party proposal. It's probably not very manly of me to admit, but I'm quite looking forward to being able to show my son off to all of my closest family and friends.

By the time four o'clock rolls around, I'm just finishing up the last of my paperwork. I say a quick goodnight to Rose and Emmett as they prepare to close up the office for the night, and I head home. Knowing she's already done with school and likely starting her shift, I shoot Bella a quick text telling her to have a good night at work, and then I call my mother to let her know I'm on my way to the house. She told me she'd be done working at three after a meeting with a client, and then she'd head over to the house. Chances are, she's already there and measuring the soon-to-be-former game room.

As I suspected, Mom's car is in the driveway and the front door is unlocked when I arrive. "Mom?" I call out as I close the door behind me.

"Up here, Edward!" she replies, her voice travelling downstairs from the game room.

I head upstairs and find her measuring the space and then jotting something down in her notebook. "Hey," I greet. "How's it going?"

She turns to me with a bright smile. "Pretty good. I've got quite a few ideas that I'd like to go over with you."

We take a seat next to each other on the leather couch as she shows me a few sketches and fabric swatches. It's always been somewhat fascinating to me how she can take a room and completely transform it with a few coats of paint and accessories, and the ideas she has are amazing. She's decided to incorporate my work into the room by accessorizing with all sorts of sports memorabilia I've acquired over the years—autographed basketballs, footballs, and baseballs—and the colour palate she's chosen is quite a bit brighter than it is now. Gone will be my couch and coffee table, and in their place a crib and rocking chair.

"And I thought we could move the piano into the foyer," Mom suggests gently, knowing that getting rid of it isn't even an option. "There's enough space there, and I think it would look great."

"Mom," I interject, "I don't think Grandpa intended for the piano to sit unused in the entryway of the house, and it's far too heavy to move all the way to the basement where it'll gather dust as it sits forgotten."

Mom's eyebrows knit together and she nods. "Okay . . . No, you're right." She starts to write or doddle something in her book while continuing. "Well, we can probably incorporate it into the room somehow."

"Thank you," I say.

We go over the size of the room, and she shows me her ideas for the furniture and bedding when I hear the front door close downstairs. "Edward?" Bella's voice travels upstairs, and then I hear her footsteps on the stairs as she searches for us.

"Oh, hey," she says, poking her head into the game room. "I thought that was your car out there, Esme." Looking between us, she steps into the room and stops behind the couch, bending over and wrapping her arms around my neck. "What are you two up to?"

Mom holds up her sketchpad. "Nursery planning," she replies brightly.

Bella straightens up, letting her hands rest on the tops of my shoulders. "Nursery?" I turn my head to look up at her and find her confused. "In here? Why?"

"Uh, because it's the only room available to be converted?" I tell her, the inflection in my tone making it sound like more of a question and less of a statement.

"No, it's not," she argues gently. "You could convert my old room."

My eyes widen and I shake my head. "We're not doing that," I tell her firmly. "It's _your_ room, and I'm not going to take away any of your personal space. You deserve a place that's yours."

"Don't be ridiculous," she tells me, crossing her arms across her chest. "My room makes the most sense for the simple fact that it's right across the hall from yours."

Smiling, Mom pats my knee and stands up. "I'll leave the two of you to talk for a moment. I'll go and put the tea kettle on for us."

My mom exits the room, leaving Bella and me alone. One look at Bella tells me she's not going to let this go, but neither am I; she's already done so much—given up so much—and I'm not about to let her give up the one room she can escape to if she has to study or just get away.

"Look," Bella speaks up, "I haven't stayed in my room in weeks, so it really makes no sense for me to keep calling it _'mine.'_ I really think this would be in everyone's best interest." Her lips curl up into a playful smile before she teasingly adds, "Unless this is your way of telling me you're not ready for me to move into _your_ personal space."

I laugh. "Of course that's not it. I'd have no problem with you moving your things into the master suite, it's just—"

"This room wouldn't work for a nursery, anyway," Bella interrupts, still trying to get her way. "The placement of the window is all wrong. You're going to want to put him down in the evening, but the light from the sunset will be streaming through due to the western exposure. My room is the clear choice if you want to avoid a serious remodel in the next four months."

I'm stunned into silence. Had she thought of that on the spot or was this something she'd been thinking of for a while now? And better still: How had I not thought of that?

Bella smirks triumphantly. "So, can I take your silence to mean you agree with me?"

My head bobs a few times before I've really given it permission to do so, and Bella looks pleased. "Good. Of course, there's going to have to be a few changes to be made before the baby comes home." I eye her curiously, not only because I want to hear what changes she has in mind, but also because I still can't quite believe we're having this conversation and she seems _happy_ about it. "We'll have to install some kind of baby proof locks on the balcony doors—maybe something at the top of each door that slides into place inside the framing?—and also the ensuite door."

"Well, it looks like we've come to a decision," my mom says from the doorway, a tray with three cups of tea on it. "Shall we continue this conversation in the baby's new room?"

Smiling exuberantly, Bella turns around and follows my mom down the hall toward her room, and I follow them, still in awe over the fact that Bella has offered up her room. Mom sets the tray on Bella's bedside table and starts looking around the room and talking out loud as she plans.

Leaving Mom to her planning, I wrap my arms around Bella's waist and kiss her cheek. "Thank you," I whisper. "This was really sweet of you."

Bella giggles, mirroring my hold on her and hugging her arms around mine. "You don't have to thank me," she replies with a light shrug. "This was the right thing to do. This is where he belongs—across the hall from us."

_Us_.

There's something about hearing her refer to the both of us when referring to the baby that makes my heart burst at the seams with joy. I know she's done this a few times in the last few months, but this is the first time I've really picked up on the conviction in her tone, and I soak it up like a sponge, revelling in the way it makes me feel, not only content, but _fulfilled_. Then, just as I begin to imagine the two of us in here with the first of a several kids, my mother looks up with a smile and reaches for Bella, pulling her into the middle of the room and asking for her opinion on her design ideas. The smile on Bella's face as she looks over her shoulder at me while Mom talks slides the final piece of contentedness into place, and I sigh reverently.

True, it may not have been how I'd envisioned my life turning out, but it is what it is, and with Bella by my side, I know the two of us can get through anything.

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><p><strong>AN2: So, there's chapter 34. Only 3 more plus a special epilogue :)**

**What did you all think about Edward having a boy? I'm pretty excited ;)**

**Until next time...**

**xoxo**


	35. A Wedding and a Delivery or Two

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**The continued love and support for this story has been truly amazing. You're all so great, and I really couldn't ask for a group of better readers. Thank you for trusting me with this little turn of events.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 35. A Wedding and a Delivery . . . or Two<strong>

The next three months seem to fly by. Maybe it's because I've been gearing up for finals and Edward's been busy with work, trying to tie up any loose ends before the baby comes home in less than two months. However, even with all of the crazy in our lives, we still make time for each other. We'll always try to plan a quiet dinner together, and if we can't for some reason, we'll be sure to set aside a couple hours before bed where we turn off all phones, computers, and TVs so we can sit and enjoy the other's company before going to bed. Plus, we're still sure to keep our weekly date night ritual, which is always great.

Over the last twelve weeks, not only have Edward and I noticed our relationship grow even more intimate emotionally, but he's started saying things like "when _we_ bring the baby home" or "_our_ son" instead of when everything was "_his"_ or "_my." _I know it doesn't seem like much, and six months ago hearing this would probably have sent me running for the hills or going back to my therapist for an anti-anxiety prescription, but instead, it made my heart swell with joy and my body hum with excitement.

_Our_ son.

I never thought I'd be as happy about this little turn of events as I am now.

Of course, even though we're in this together, he's still adamant that he'll take care of everything while I focus on my school. He says he realizes that this shouldn't affect my goals and dreams in any way, and that I shouldn't allow myself to be stressed about any of it. It's sweet, really, but I don't think he fully understands how strangely excited about this I am.

Especially after hanging out with my mom lately.

She's absolutely adorable. She's got this glow about her, and she's always smiling—of course, she assures me that the smiling is from her morning sickness having subsided and her sex-life having resumed. And, apparently, pregnant sex is the best there is.

I know, I know. _Barf_. It's more than I need to know, but her happiness is contagious—no matter the source of it.

During one visit, Mom and I were sitting in the living room, having a cup of tea while Edward was with Emmett—planning his bachelor party—and in the middle of telling me something, Mom shifted her weight, dropping her eyes to her stomach and laughing. When my eyes followed hers, I noticed her belly move. It was the strangest thing, and it looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. Only cooler.

"Here," she'd said, grabbing my tea cup and placing it on the coffee table before grabbing my hands and pulling them toward her belly. "Feel your baby sister move around in there."

Oh yeah; I'm having a sister. How cool is that?

The minute my hands touched her belly, the moving stopped. It was pretty disappointing, but she told me to wait a moment. Just as I was about to give up, I felt a slight bump. It was . . . weird. I moved my hands, pressing lightly where I felt the movement, and soon, it happened again. She was pressing back against me—defying me already, the little shit.

Soon, the hard kicks and bumps turned into a strange rolling sensation beneath my hands, and I looked up at my mom. "Does it feel weird?"

She smiled down at me, her blue eyes bright. "I suppose, a little."

I scooted closer to my mom, hoping the baby would move again, and when she did, I smiled. Irina's kept to herself, as Edward and I had asked, so I wouldn't get to feel her belly this way. In some way, having my mom pregnant at the same time has allowed for me to experience these little moments in some kind of surrogate manner.

I realize how bizarre that sounds. My mother is my surrogate stand-in for all the things I won't get to experience with the woman who is carrying the child that Edward and I will raise as our own. She's my surrogate for my sort-of surrogate.

When did my life get this confusing?

Esme worked around the clock to get the nursery finished. She'd decided to paint the walls a slightly more muted shade of blue as opposed to the Caribbean blue, and she added hints of brown, green, and yellow accents throughout with a change of lamps and furniture as well as the fabrics for the bedding, drapes, and rocker. It really is a beautiful room, and almost completely unrecognizable.

The one constant in the room is my old bed, which remains in the same place it's always been; Edward requested we keep it there. Not for me, but in case I need a quiet room to study in. This way, I can stay in our room and he'll stay in the nursery. Naturally, I'd argued this, but he was having none of it, so I acquiesced. The baby-proofing has been completed in the room—not that we'll really need it for a little while, but at least it's done and ready and one less thing to worry about when the time comes.

Every week that passes has Edward and I crossing one more thing off of our to-do list around the house, and while we're both increasingly more anxious—something I'm told is normal given our situation—it's progress. And now, with just over a month until Irina is due to deliver, Rosalie and Esme have kicked the baby-shower planning into overdrive.

Rose has everything planned for a couple weeks after the baby comes, which is more than fine with Edward and me, because that way, we'll have had a little while to adjust to everything and spend some one-on-one time with him before we're forced to share him.

I think I'm looking forward to this the most.

Of course, Rosalie has been pulling double-planning duty, especially considering I'm currently sitting in one of the two-hundred satin-draped chairs at her wedding ceremony. After arriving here, Edward left me with his parents, kissing me on the cheek and telling me he had to go uphold his best man duties. We find our seats, third row from the front as the first two rows were designated for family—and it turns out that both Rose and Em come from pretty big families.

Smoothing the lines of my knee-length sapphire blue dress as I sit down, I look around the room and take in all of the little details of Rose and Emmett's wedding. Every single chair in the room is filled with friends and family, and I can feel the love that fills the air. Everything is tasteful from the paper lanterns and twinkle lights that are hanging from the ceiling, to the light blue and purple bows that are tied around the chairs, and the white rose buds that have been placed in them.

There's a string quartet up near the archway that Rose and Emmett will be married under, and they've been playing since before Edward and I even arrived. It's absolutely beautiful, and has me wondering what my wedding—way _way _in the future—will be like. Will it be this big? Will we choose to elope? Vegas or somewhere in the Caribbean, perhaps? Maybe we'll go down to city hall with just our parents and have something super small and intimate.

Nah. We probably won't do that last one. That just feels wrong.

I laugh quietly to myself, because the fact that I've got this going through my head is a little silly. I mean, Edward hasn't even proposed, and here I am, at someone else's wedding, wondering about my own, even though it's years away from happening.

As I'm looking around the room some more, trying to catch another glimpse of Edward in his sexy tux, I spot Jasper entering with a certain five-foot-tall, dark-haired co-ed on his arm. I wave at them from my aisle seat, and they make their way over, sitting in the two empty seats next to Carlisle.

"Hey," I greet happily. "How've you guys been?"

Now that school is out, Alice and I hadn't seen too much of each other in the last two weeks. We talk and text all the time, but I'd been so busy trying to fit in as much quality time with my parents, Edward's parents, and—of course—Edward, that we'd been unable to coordinate a proper girls' day.

Not to mention, Alice had been spending a lot of her spare time with Jasper. A lot.

"Everything's good!" Alice exclaims. "How are you and Edward? Everything almost ready?"

I inhale deeply, swallowing the nervous butterflies that have started to flutter wildly. "Yeah. I think so . . . at least, I _hope _so."

We sit and visit for a few more minutes before the music changes and a hush falls over the crowd. One look behind me tells me we're getting started as Emmett starts to make his way down the aisle. Once he's in place, the white-curtained French doors behind the seated crowd opens, and each groomsman steps out with a stunning bridesmaid, dressed in a flowing lavender gown, on their arm.

The blonde on Edward's arm momentarily brings out my inner green-eyed monster, but when I notice his eyes are only locked on me, and he smiles _my _smile, I relax and wink at him. He chuckles lightly as he passes, and Esme reaches across and pats my shoulder.

When the bridal party have reached their destinations at the makeshift altar, the adorable five-year-old twin cousins of Emmett's come out. The little girl is dressed in an adorable knee-length white dress, a blue satin bow tied around her ribs, and the little boy is dressed in a smaller version of the guys' tuxes. They're so flippin' cute, and it makes me wonder about our wedding again—there must be something in the air. Will Edward and I have Masen as our ring-bearer? Will we wait that long to get married? I mean, we'd discussed it a few times, and we both agreed that my schooling and career should come first, but do I _want_ to wait that long?

One more look at these cute kids makes me realize that I think I do, because I suddenly imagine a little mini-Edward walking down the aisle next to my little sister, who would be scattering rose petals on a white aisle-runner, and I can't imagine anything more perfect.

The music shifts into the traditional wedding march, and all of the guests stand up, turning toward the French doors where Rosalie emerges, her parents on either side of her as they make their way down the aisle.

The ceremony is beautiful, and I find myself unexpectedly emotional when they exchange their vows. I've never cried at weddings, and here I am, trying not to snot-sob all over my dress. Apparently falling in love has turned me into a bit of a sap—not that I'm complaining.

After the ceremony, Rose and Emmett have a photo session lined up while the staff here transforms the room into a banquet hall and prepares dinner. I hang out with Alice, Jasper, and Edward's parents and watch as the wedding party is photographed. The minute he announces that the groomsmen and bridesmaids are free to go, Edward finds his way to me, pulling me into his arms and kissing me softly.

"Hello, handsome," I greet, pretending to straighten his already-perfect blue tie.

He smiles. "Hello, yourself, gorgeous." His hands grip my hips, his thumbs running over the smooth fabric of my dress, and he lowers his head, his lips brushing my ear. "I still can't get over how amazing you look in this dress. It's taking everything I have in me not to drag you back to the car and do ungodly things to your body."

A shiver rocks through my body and goosebumps race across my skin despite the dry, summer heat. "That sounds kind of hot," I whisper, trying to keep from laughing. "Especially with the weather the way it is. I can't imagine it would be too comfortable. It's going to be like an oven in there."

Laughing, Edward kisses my neck once more and stands up straight, looking me in the eye. "All right, well if you have any better ideas . . ."

I smile coyly. "There's a pretty cozy-looking coat closet inside." The look on his face tells me he's seriously considering this, and while I would have absolutely no objections, given how unbelievable he looks in his tux, I shake my head. "Easy, stud. If we escape now, we're bound to get caught, and I doubt Rose would be too forgiving."

"You're right," he acquiesces. "Well, will you at least join me for a walk? We've got a bit of time to kill before the reception."

"I would love that."

For the next hour and a bit, Edward and I walk hand-in-hand around the hall. There's a little park nearby where a few of the kids from the wedding are playing, and Edward and I stop there. I flop down onto an available swing, and Edward proceeds to push me. I'm pretty sure he's purposefully grabbing my ass every time he goes to push, but when I call him on it, he feigns innocence.

A squeal of delight catches my attention, and I see Emmett's twin cousins come running over with their parents hot on their trails. The dark-haired boy heads straight for the jungle gym, his mother yelling after him to be careful and not get dirty, while the little girl stops a few feet from the swings, the look on her face falling when she realizes they're all full.

I drag my feet in the sand, stopping the swing and hopping off. When she sees me offering it to her, her smile returns and she bolts toward me. "Thank you!" she exclaims, hopping onto the seat and holding on. "Will you push me?"

"Jane," her mother says, her tone somewhat stern.

"Please," Jane amends apologetically. "Will you push me, _please_?"

I look to where her mother stands, and she smiles, nodding her assent, and I grip the chains at Jane's hips. "I would love to."

Edward stays nearby while I push Jane on the swings. She's absolutely loving it, laughing and squealing happily as her dark brown curls fly out behind her. "Higher! Higher!" she requests, and I oblige only too willingly.

When her mother tells her and her brother, Alec, that it's time to head back, she isn't shy about letting the world know she's disappointed. In an effort to save her mother the temper tantrum, I lean down to her level and say, "You know, I'm a friend of Emmett and Rosalie's, too. Maybe you and I could play later. What do you say?"

This seems to make her happy, and she throws her arms around my neck unexpectedly before chasing after her parents and brother. When I stand up, Edward takes my hand and he draws it up to his lips. "You were really sweet with her." There's something in his soft tone that touches me, and I know it has something to do with the baby.

We head back to the hall, and when we walk in, the place is almost unrecognizable. The chairs we all sat in earlier now surround tables that weren't there before, and new lights and drapery adorn the tables and walls. It's so whimsical and romantic.

It's no surprise that the dinner is as elegant as it is delicious, and the wine—while not something I'm overindulging in since I'm still just over two months away from twenty-one—is amazing. Edward's best man speech has everyone in stitches, and the speech Vera, Rosalie's maid of honour and the woman who was walking down the aisle with Edward, gives is beautiful and emotional. Having grown up together, they are as close as sisters, and nobody knows Rose better than her.

When dinner concludes, the dance begins. Rose and Emmett look so undeniably in love as they dance around the floor, and it stuns me how light Em is on his feet, because he just doesn't strike me as the ballroom dancing type.

Soon, the dance floor is full, and I think Edward is about to ask me to dance—something I'm not exactly the best at, but I can hold my own—when I feel a tiny hand wrap around my wrist. Looking over, I see the big brown eyes of one Miss Jane. She's got the biggest smile on her face, and it's hard not to mirror her expression.

"Hi, there," I say, leaning over.

"Will you come dance with me?" she asks sweetly.

I look over at Edward, who's grinning broadly, and he nods. "You don't mind?" I inquire.

I can tell by the gleam in his eyes that he doesn't, but I just had to be sure. In fact, not only does he seem to not mind, he seems amazed and full of admiration and wonder. Jane leads me to the dance floor, and soon her brother and several other children join us. We're dancing away—and I use the term loosely, because none of us are really _dancing_. I don't know how long we're on the floor for, but several other kids and adults have joined us including Rose, Alice, Emmett, and Jasper. I look around, wondering where Edward is, when I feel his arms around my waist and his lips next to my ear.

"Mind if I steal you away for a minute?" he asks, and I nod.

I tell Jane I'll see her later, but she's having so much fun that she doesn't seem to mind. I leave the group, Edward taking my hand and pulling me from the dance floor and toward the main entry. It doesn't surprise me that he turns right instead of left, pulling me into the coat closet I mentioned, because I sensed the heavy sexual undertones in his request a moment ago.

The second the door is closed, Edward leans me against it, pressing his body to mine until not even a whisper of air can be found between us. The warmth of his lips as they kiss their way up the column of my throat makes me moan, and I twist my fingers into his recently-cut hair to draw his mouth to mine. Our kiss deepens quickly, the passion in the room escalating, and his hands start to roam over the soft blue fabric of my dress until he's palming my breasts, his fingertips curling just over the plunging neckline until they brush my skin.

Frantically, I begin to force his tux jacket over his shoulders, and he breaks contact with my chest only long enough to remove the jacket, tossing it on a nearby chair. His right hand find my breast again, while his left one wanders down the length of my body and grabs my knee, hitching it up over his hip until I can feel how aroused he is. Excitement shoots through my body, manifesting itself as a dull tingle beneath my skin that seems to be most concentrated in my right thigh—the one that's currently wrapped around Edward's body.

It isn't until the sensation stops and then starts again moments later that Edward pulls his face from mine and chuckles. "I think you're thigh's vibrating," he teases, letting my leg fall back to the floor as he reaches for my hip and gently tugs on the pocket of my dress.

My phone. Of course.

Still breathing heavily, I grab my phone from my pocket—the biggest selling feature of the dress—and notice that it's my mom. Before she gets put through to my voicemail, I answer it. "Hello? Mom?"

"Oh, good!" she exclaims, sounding just as breathless as I am . . . which leads me to a horrifying conclusion that makes me shudder. "I didn't think I'd get you, what with the two of youuuuuu . . ." It startles me when she stops mid sentence, dragging the word "you" out and having it escalate into a cry of severe discomfort.

"Mom?" I demand, feeling my forehead pull up with worry. "What's going on?"

She takes several deep breaths, releasing them slowly, and in the background I can hear my father talking her through whatever's going on. Before I can inquire further, she says, "We're headed to the hospital, sweetheart. I was just going to leave a message since we knew you were at the wedding."

"Oh my god!" I exclaim, looking at Edward as my mouth turns up into a wide smile. When his own look of worry transforms into a knowing smile, he reaches for the doorknob behind me. "We're on our way."

"Oh, no," she says calmly. "Don't worry about that. We can see you tomorrow, honey."

"Don't be ridiculous! We'll be there as soon as we can." I hang up the phone just as Mom goes into another horrifically painful-sounding contraction, and Edward and I head off to find Emmett and Rose. They're with Edward's parents, so we're able to kill two birds with one stone by telling them all together before we leave the reception hall and drive to the hospital.

After finding a parking spot, Edward and I rush into the hospital hand-in-hand. The woman at the main desk directs us to the maternity floor, and Edward and I wait a ridiculously long time for the elevator to arrive, and an even longer amount of time for it to reach the third floor. Okay, so it's probably a completely reasonable amount of time, but my excitement seems to be drawing everything out a little longer than normal.

As soon as we're off the elevator, we speed-walk down the hall toward the nurses' station, walking past a few women walking around in hospital gowns, their significant others at their sides and rubbing their backs when they keel over in what looks like an excruciating contraction.

"I'm looking for Renee and Charlie Swan," I announce to the nurse behind the desk, drawing her attention from the computer to me.

She offers me a bright smile. "You must be Bella. Your parents are expecting you and asked me to send you both right in when you arrived. They're in room 305."

Not wanting to waste another second, Edward and I scoot down the hall and open the door marked 305. It would figure the scene we walk in on isn't completely expected, especially considering I tend to have the worst timing on the planet when it comes to visiting my parents. Apparently having a baby doesn't change this.

"Oh, god!" I cry out, grinding to a halt just inside the door as I take in the scene in front of me: Mom is sitting on an incline on the bed with her legs up in the stirrups as the man I assume is her doctor and my father are investigating what's going on down there.

Edward slams into my back, pushing me forward another step, and when he registers what's going on, I immediately turn around, pushing on his chest and trying to cover his eyes. I know it's already too late, though. You can't unsee that shit. Trust me. I know.

"We'll, uh, be outside," I stammer, shutting the door behind us and pressing my forehead to the cool hospital wall. "That was . . ." I shudder before turning to look at Edward, whose eyes are so wide he resembles a deer in headlights. I laugh, because it is kind of funny now—horrifying, yes, but still a little funny. "I'm so sorry."

He blinks a couple times, shaking his head, possibly in an attempt to shake the memory of my mother's vag from his brain. It won't be that easy, believe me. "It's . . ." He clears his throat and smoothes out his dress shirt, pretending to be unaffected. Yeah, right. "I'm fine. That was nothing."

I don't have the heart to call him on it. He has every right to try to repress that, so I nod in agreement. Before I can suggest we go to the waiting room, the door opens and the doctor steps out, smiling.

"Sorry about that," he apologizes. "Your mother is asking for you." He must sense our unease, because he laughs gently. "It's safe, I assure you."

Slowly, Edward and I make our way to the door and push it open. As the doctor said, she's completely covered up. Dad is next to her, holding her hand and talking to her, his forehead pressed to hers and their eyes closed. It's an innocently intimate moment, and it tugs at my heart strings. One thing I've come to appreciate over the years is how undeniably in love my parents are after over two decades together. Sure, that comes with a few less than awesome memories of the two of them caught doing it, but I'll gladly take the mental hit several times for witnessing just one moment like this.

The door clicks softly, drawing my parents' eyes to us, and they both smile infectiously. I cross the room and throw my arms around my mom, her tears of happiness dripping onto my bare shoulder. "Oh, I'm so glad you're both here!" she exclaims. "Sorry about what you walked in on."

I laugh, feeling my own tears of happiness stinging my eyes. "That's okay," I assure her, pushing her hair from her slightly damp forehead. "It's surprisingly not the worst thing I've walked in on the two of you doing."

Yeah, I can joke about it a little now.

Dad snickers. "I didn't think this would be all that fascinating," he admits, confusing me. He picks up on that and decides to elaborate. "Well, when you were born, it was rare that a father was in the room. I didn't know about half the stuff that goes on. Then there were the books . . ."

"Books?" I question, knowing my shock is plainly written all over my face. "You read pregnancy books?"

"It's all very fascinating," he says, flooring me further. "Makes me regret not forcing my way into the delivery room when you were born."

This conversation is both sweet and awkward, but I focus on the sweet.

Edward and I stay with Mom and Dad a bit longer, long enough to witness several contractions. I ask my mom why she's chosen not to take the epidural, but she's a proud woman who "did this once before without drugs, and she'll do it again."

Personally, I'm getting the drugs when I'm in this position. You bet. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

The doctor comes in, and Edward and I step out again, not needing to have a repeat moment of when we'd first arrived. This time, when he emerges, he directs us to the waiting room, telling us it's time for my mom to have a baby. I'm nervous, excited, and just a little bit scared. I'm once again reminded of her age and how there are more complications, and now it's all I can think about as I pace nervously in the waiting room.

Edward must sense my distress, because he grabs my hand and pulls me onto his lap, holding me close and kissing my temple. I rest the side of my head against his forehead and let his whispers of reassurance wash through me as he runs his hand up and down my back, and I feel my apprehension beginning to subside. When I look up at the clock, I see that almost two hours have gone by, and when I drop my eyes from the time, I see my father walking into the waiting room with a tiny pink bundle cradled in his arms.

I pull myself off of Edward's lap, my lips curling up into an exultant smile as I slowly cross the waiting room to my dad. There's a tiny movement beneath the pink blanket, and an even tinier squeak as I reach out and pull the blanket away from her cheek to have a look. Edward places a hand on my shoulder, and I look up at my dad expectantly.

"Bella, meet your baby sister, Claire."

Carefully, he leans forward, and I instinctively hold my arms out to accept her. I'm nervous, sure, but more than that, I'm excited. I can't get over how small she is, and my emotions get the best of me. I don't cry, but I definitely swallow a lump in my throat. Completely awestruck by this itty-bitty human in my arms, I take in her features, from the dark tuft of hair that peeks out from beneath the knitted pink beanie on her head, to her long eyelashes and button nose, and right on down to her pouty lips that are moving in a suckling motion while she sleeps. She's absolutely precious.

I haven't stopped smiling since Dad arrived with her, and when Edward leans in and kisses my cheek, wrapping his arms around my waist, I relax into his embrace. I know that I'm not holding the child we'll raise as our very own in a few weeks time, but I feel the connection between us grow even more as we look at this sweet baby girl in my arms.

Dad's explaining that my mom's doing great, and that the doctor is just in there stitching her up—a very sobering comment that quickly disappears when Claire wriggles in my arms again. I sigh contentedly, and Edward kisses the shell of my ear, his lips curling up into a smile against it before he whispers, "Seeing you holding a baby is probably one of the sexiest things I've ever seen."

Still grinning, I turn my face to him. "Just wait until it's our child."

"I'm counting down the weeks."

I'm so caught up in this little bubble of joy that we've created around us and Claire that I almost don't hear the commotion outside the waiting room.

"I've got a twenty-seven-year-old woman in labour," a man—a paramedic upon a quick glance—announces as he pushes a woman down the hall in a wheelchair. She's hunched over, her blonde hair curtaining her face as she clutches her protruding belly.

"Somebody needs to get a hold of the father," the woman says, her voice low and strained as she speaks into her lap. "I tried to get a hold of him, but I kept getting his voicemail. His contact information is in my file."

"Of course," the nurse assures her, rounding the desk. "How far along are you, hun?"

"Thir-thirty-five weeks," she stammers, straightening up and pushing her hair back off her face.

I inhale sharply, drawing Edward's focus from me and Claire to what's going out in the hall, and his posture stiffens when he realizes what's happening. Carefully, I hand Claire back to my father and follow Edward out into the hall where we discover Irina.

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><p><strong>AN2: So, there it is! I know, it's a little bit of a cliffie, but the next chapter has already been started! Hope you all enjoyed it!**

**Until next time!**

**xoxo**


	36. Nurture vs Nature

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**I apologize for taking a few weeks to update this story. **_**Forgive me, Father**_** was talking pretty loudly, so I focused on that . . . plus, I always get a little sad when I come to the close of a story, and I try to avoid the inevitable end. Alas, I could not ignore it any longer—especially since I left you all on a pretty big cliffhanger!**

**So, here it is . . .**

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><p><strong>Chapter 36. Nurture vs. Nature<strong>

Irina looks up at us from her wheelchair, her hands moving over her protruding belly and her forehead glistening with beads of sweat. "Oh, good," she says breathlessly. "You got my messages." It's the first time I've seen her not looking perfectly made up, and I'm somewhat ashamed to take pleasure in it . . . _very_ briefly, and I'm not entirely proud of it. I'm not a total monster. I realize that she's going through something excruciating and know that one day I'll be where she is, so I quickly push the feeling aside, letting my concern rush forward instead.

I look from Irina to Edward, who's patting his pants pocket and then his chest, looking confused. "No," he replies. "I must have left my phone in my jacket pocket." He glances down at me, and I'm immediately reminded of where his jacket is—back in the coat room at the reception hall. We'd been so rushed to get here for my parents that we'd forgotten his jacket.

Irina looks confused as to why we're here if we didn't get her message, so I quickly explain. "My parents are here." She surprises me by looking concerned, so I offer her a smile. "Oh, they're fine. They, uh, had a baby, actually."

She finds this amusing, and I have to admit, so do I. This sort of thing only happens in those daytime soap operas, and yet, here I am, living it.

Another contraction rips through Irina, forcing her to double over and cry out into her lap, and my concerned gaze moves from Edward to each of the nurses as they fuss around her. They take her to a nearby room, and Edward and I quickly follow as Irina answers their questions.

"When did the contractions start?"

"Three hours ago, but they weren't regular until about a half hour ago."

"How far apart are they?"

"Five minutes."

"On a scale of one to ten, how's the pain?"

"I'm going to want the epidural," is her reply, making the nurses chuckle. Finally, something the two of us have in common.

Edward and I stand near the door as the nurses get her situated, and when they proceed with the initial examination, we step outside until it's finished. Apparently she's at about seven centimetres already, and the nurses all figure she'll progress quickly from here on out.

The anaesthesiologist, a kindly gentleman with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, comes into the room and goes over all the ins and outs of the epidural before she signs the consent forms. Edward and I are at her bedside as she sits up, turning to face us so the doctor can put in the catheter that will administer the drugs. He explains what he's doing as he does his thing, and just as he's about to thread the catheter in, Irina cries out through another contraction.

Without thinking, I reach out and take her hand, allowing her to squeeze it while the doctor finishes up. She clamps down so tightly that pain blisters through my hand and up my arm, but I ignore it, because I know that what she's going through has to be so much worse. It surprises me even further when she pulls me closer to her and leans her head on my shoulder, breathing through the pain, and as soon as it's all over, she sits up, brushing a few stray tears from the corner of her eyes and releasing my hand.

"Sorry," she says softly as the doctor helps her lie back on her bed.

"Don't be," I assure her. "Can I get you anything?"

"Thanks, but I think I'm okay for now," she says, grabbing the cup of ice chips that the nurses had left for her off the table at her side before looking at Edward. "I've got the papers signed. They're in my bag over there." When she gestures to where her bag sits in a chair across the room, Edward moves toward it. "Front pocket."

Edward opens the front pocket and pulls out a manila folder, opening it and pulling out the small stack of legal papers that say she's going to sign over all her rights.

"Everything's in order, I just wanted to make sure you got them beforehand," Irina tells him, grabbing another ice chip and crunching it as her eyes travel down to her toes.

I follow her gaze and see her toes wiggling, which, I assume, can only mean the drugs haven't kicked in yet. I'm not sure how long this is supposed to take, but she's got to be coming up on another contraction soon, and I'm not sure my hand can take that again.

"Should I grab the doctor?" I ask. "To make sure everything's okay with the epidural?"

She laughs softly, shaking her head. "Nope. Everything's working perfectly," she informs me. "I'm having a contraction now, actually."

Confused, I look at her belly and see that she's right; it does seem to be a little more tense than it was only a moment ago. "But, you're moving?" I say, still confused.

"Yeah, and it's weird. Almost like an extreme case of dead-leg . . . without the pins and needles."

I watch, slightly amused along with her, as she tries to lift her leg. She claims it's heavy and she can't lift it off the bed, but she's able to move it with a lot of concentration. Before Irina can try to lift her other leg—not that she's going to be successful there, either—her doctor comes in.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to see you in here quite this early, Irina," she says kindly, tucking her greying blonde hair behind her ear as she reaches for the chart at the end of Irina's bed.

"Guess this guy had other plans in mind," Irina replies.

The doctor notices us, setting Irina's chart down on the end of her bed. Her hazel eyes move over us appraisingly before she thrusts out her hand. "I'm Dr. Troy."

Edward takes her hand and shakes it. "I'm Edward," he says, the roughness of his voice surprising me. I know he's got to be nervous, but I never realized just how much until right this second. I reach over and take his free hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze until I feel his tension ease. "This is Bella. I'm the . . . uh . . ."

"Parents," I interject without pause. "We're the child's parents." The pronouncement seems to startle Edward at my side, but I honestly didn't even think about it before I said it. It just . . . slipped out. It's the first time I've acknowledged the child as partially _mine_ to anyone but Edward, and I love the way it makes me feel inside. It's like my heart swells and my stomach flips over with anticipation.

The doctor does another exam while Edward and I step out into the hall again. Once we are called back in, we're informed that she's progressing quite quickly, and the doctor says she won't be surprised if there is a baby born shortly after midnight. I glance up at the clock and am surprised to see it's already eleven-thirty. How long have we even been at the hospital? When did my parents call? It had to be around nine, right?

Yes, I remember looking up at the clock before meeting Claire, and it was just after eleven.

Hard to believe how quickly this is all happening.

Before the doctor has the chance to leave, Edward asks if being five weeks early will affect the baby in any way.

"I won't know for sure until he's here," she replies honestly. "But Irina's had a model pregnancy, and, other than maybe being a little on the small side, I think he'll probably be quite healthy. We might have to keep him here for a little while—standard procedure with all preemies—but I won't know for certain until he's here."

After the doctor excuses herself to go check on her other patients, Edward and I stay with Irina, talking to her and helping her focus on anything but the fact that she's about to push something the size of a watermelon out of her vag.

Okay, so Edward talks, because I really don't know enough about her to carry on a conversation.

Because of the epidural, none of us pay attention to how many contractions Irina is having or how long we've been sitting here until the doctor strolls back in at five after midnight. We step out of the room while she does another exam, but this time when she opens the door, it's to tell us it's time.

Instinctively, we reach for each other, holding hands as nervous and excited energy crashes through us, resulting in an uncontrollable tremble in our limbs. The doctor tells us that Irina has requested we wait in the waiting area. I can tell Edward's disappointed based on the very brief look he gives the doctor before nodding his assent, and I understand his feeling this way; truth be told, _I'm_ a little disappointed he won't be witnessing Masen's journey into this world, too.

But I also understand Irina's request, and I respect it; she's come this far alone, detaching herself from everything as possible, so it makes sense that she'd want to do this one last thing alone.

Edward and I go to the waiting room and pace, occasionally—okay, so it's more like every ten seconds—looking up at the clock to see how much time has passed. The saying "a watched pot never boils" also holds true to watching the hands on a clock move; the more you stare, the longer they take to circle the clock.

My dad comes back to the waiting room, sans Claire, and we fill him in on what's going on before he lets us know he's heading home now that Mom's asleep. I feel like a bit of a tool for not going and congratulating Mom after meeting Claire, but my dad assures me that he explained what he knew was going on to her and that she'd see us the next day.

I give my dad one more hug before he takes off. Yes, he'd offered to stay until we heard something, but he'd already been here long enough, and if he wanted to be here first thing in the morning, I knew he'd want to get home and get a little bit of sleep.

"I'm going to go and grab some coffee," I tell Edward at one in the morning; it's been a long day, and I'm starting to fade, despite the adrenaline of tonight's events. "Would you like some?"

"Sure," he replies sweetly, leaning down and kissing me lightly and reaching into his pocket for money since I left my purse back at the reception hall.

Not wanting to risk missing the announcement, I half-walk, half-run the ten feet down the hall and around the corner. The coffee isn't great, but it'll get the job done and keep us alert enough. I'm both surprised and a little bummed to see Edward is still alone in the waiting room, but I smile and hand him his coffee. The poor guy is so excited and nervous that his hands tremble slightly when he reaches for his coffee, and I realize that it's my turn to comfort him the way he had helped me through the excruciating wait for my mom to give birth.

Now, I know he's too big for me to pull him onto my lap—wouldn't that be a sight?—so instead, I take his free hand and lead him toward one of the chairs, perch myself onto the arm as I set my coffee down for a moment, and I begin to give him a scalp massage. His soft, contented moans and the collapse of his rigid posture tell me he's relaxing a little, and I smile while I continue my efforts. The tips of my fingers begin to tingle, and I use my nails to lightly scratch his scalp.

"He's going to be here soon," I say quietly, leaning in and kissing the side of Edward's head. "Masen."

I sit back up just in time to see the side of Edward's lips turn up into a goofy smile, and when he turns his head to me, my hands falling from his head, he sighs blissfully. "I know. It's crazy, right?"

Smiling, I nod, but before I can say anything, a nurse I recognize from Irina's room appears in the doorway, a bright smile on her face. Edward and I are on our feet in a flash, crossing the room to her. She's empty-handed, which is more than a little disheartening, but I can tell from her expression that everything has to be just fine.

"They're just finishing up and then taking him to the nursery. You should be able to see him soon," she tells us, making no mention of Irina.

"And Irina?" I ask out of nowhere, truly hoping she's doing all right.

Hey. _Not _a monster, remember?

The nurse smiles. "She did quite well. The doctor suspects she'll be out of here sometime in the next day or two. She's asked for rest tonight, but understands the two of you may want to see her at some point tomorrow, and she's all right with that."

Edward and I nod simultaneously as the nurse motions out into the hall. "Come on," she says. "I'll take you to the nursery so you can meet the little one."

Our timing is impeccable, because the second we arrive at the nursery, Masen is just being put into his basinet. Of course, this isn't a conclusion I come to on my very own, because there are a lot of babies in here; I only know it's Masen because another of Irina's nurses is the one tending to him as she sees us walk in, and she waves us over.

We're both a little too eager, picking up our pace as we weave through the rows of basinets of sleeping babies. I wonder if Claire is among the babies swaddled in pink. While I want to visit with my new baby sister a little more, there's a baby boy I'm also pretty desperate to see and hold.

And given my apprehensions to this entire situation a few months ago, who'd have thought?

I see movement beneath the tightly wrapped blanket—his feet seem to be fighting against his restraints. I laugh, because Edward hates his feet being covered up, too. Cute. He's got a blue knit cap on, similar to Claire's little pink one, and he looks a bit smaller, even bundled in this blanket.

"How is he?" I ask, worried about his size amongst a sea of slightly bigger babies.

The nurse smiles. "A little on the small side, but nothing to worry about. He checks out just fine. The doctor wants to keep him for a few days to be sure he puts on a little more weight as he's only just over five pounds, but he's got a healthy set of lungs and is a good colour. Everything checks out just fine." Her eyes wander between the two of us, and when I look over at Edward, he's not looking at her, but down at Masen. "Would you like to hold him?"

"Can I?" Edward asks quietly, his voice croaking and seeming more nervous than before.

"Of course," she replies with a laugh, leaning forward and picking Masen up gingerly.

The instant he's in Edward's arms, he smiles, looking down at the tiny bundle of blue in his arms. There's a little noise—tiny grunts and squeaks—coming from Masen, and his feet continue to kick against the blanket.

As I watch the two of them, something inside me shifts, my stomach flipping with excitement as I find myself at a new revelation . . .

"_Yes, there will be sleepless nights and some stress in the beginning as you both learn to adjust, but it's all so worth it," _the memory of my mother's voice sounds in my head._ "The minute you see him with that baby, your love for him will change. But in the best way. He won't just be your partner anymore, baby. He'll be a dad."_

I inhale softly, my heart pounding just a little bit faster as warm tears fill my eyes, and I step toward the two of them. Edward is so lost in his own world at first, but the minute I step into their bubble, he looks up at me, acknowledging my belonging by his side with a wide smile.

_He's a dad._

I didn't think I could love this man any more than I already did, but I do. It's unexplainable, but seeing him cradling his son in his arms has caused my heart to swell with so much pride and love. The way he'd taken this unexpected turn in his life—our lives—and turned it into something special and amazing has given me a whole new respect for the man he is. Yes, not everyone would make the decision that either of us had, but, through a lot of talking and compromising, we'd decided this just felt like the right thing to do and that we'd do whatever needed to be done to make it work.

Still smiling as I move even closer to see the baby, Edward leans forward and kisses me softly before I pull the blue blanket away from Masen's face. His eyes are open and a shade of deep blue, something that could change over the course of a few months. They don't seem to hold any indication to what colour they will become, but I'm holding out hope for Edward's brilliant green, because, even though his features are much tinier and smooshier, he looks exactly like his daddy.

A lone tear escapes the corner of my eye, and I sweep it from my cheek with the pads of my fingers. "He's perfect," I whisper as his eyes fall closed and his flailing ceases. His breathing pattern deepens as he falls asleep, and Edward and I continue to stare and marvel over this tiny human that has changed our lives for the better.

**::: Rm w/a Vu :::**

Masen has to stay in the hospital for two weeks. It isn't that he's unhealthy, but because the pediatrician wanted to be sure he put on enough weight before signing his discharge papers. By the end of his two-week stay, Masen tipped that little baby scale at six pounds, 3 ounces—a whole pound and three ounces more than when he was born; he likes his food.

We've been home just over a week now, and it's been great—although tiring at night, which I know is normal.

Edward's taken time off work to be home with Masen, and I'm done with school now, so I've been home except for when I have to go to work. I've picked up a few extra shifts to start putting away money for when school starts back up in the fall, but not so many that I'm never home. In fact, I find that the entire time I'm at work, all I can think about is being back at home with Edward and Masen.

Today's been one of those days. Tomorrow is Masen's meet-the-baby shower, and after working all day long, I'm lying in bed with a book open in my lap. I'm not really reading it, though, instead listening to Edward through the monitor as he tries to comfort an inconsolable Masen. This seems to be the routine. Regardless of having just been fed, changed, swaddled, unswaddled, or snuggled, Masen just isn't content. It breaks my heart to hear him cry like this all through the night when he's not being held, and I know it must affect Edward the same way, or he wouldn't be bolting out of bed every couple of hours to soothe him.

Edward's both exhausted and frustrated, and I get that, but he's unwilling to let me help with this. I'm not sure why—pride, maybe? Or perhaps he's still stuck on not overwhelming me with all of this for fear I'll decide I was wrong and don't want any part of it. Whatever it is, it's stupid, because I'm not in school right now, and I don't start work until eleven most mornings that I do work, so why shouldn't I help him?

Finally, the noise of Masen's cries quiets, and all I can hear is Edward's voice taper off as he finishes his lullaby. I hold my breath, visualizing Edward putting him into bed carefully so as not to wake him again. A series of soft _"shh . . . shh . . . shh . . ."_ noises carry over the baby monitor as well as drift across the hall before my old bedroom door clicks into place.

Edward appears in the doorway, his hair a mess, his jaw riddled with stubble, and his green eyes looking weary. "I think it's getting easier," he says, sounding hopeful; I don't have the heart to tell him that I disagree.

Sighing, Edward flops down on his side of the bed, and I pick my book back up, hoping to at least get through the chapter I'm on. We haven't made love since before Masen was born, and I know it'll be a little while longer as we adjust to having him in the house. I'm fine with that—really, I am—because I'd like for us to settle into our new routines and have Edward a little less exhausted than he is now. I don't think my pride could take the hit of him falling asleep in the middle of sex.

"Mmm," he sighs, draping his arm around my waist and resting his head against my stomach as I continue to lean back on the headboard and read. His thumb dances over the sliver of exposed skin above my shorts, and that familiar pulse of desire trickles beneath my skin, even though I know this is not his intention. How do I know this? Because he's done this every night since we brought Masen home, and it's usually followed by . . . yup, there it is: his gentle snoring.

Smiling, I run my fingers through his hair as I read, and he settles in even more comfortably against my body. Eventually, his snores subside as I tease the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, and I'm just flipping to the last page of my book when a shrill cry through the monitor startles me.

Edward's eyes snap open, looking confused until realization sparks in his eyes. Moaning, he pushes himself up, running his hand over his face as he prepares to get out of bed. Before his feet can even touch the ground, I slam my book closed and toss it to the foot of the bed.

"No," I tell him firmly. "Turn off the monitor and get some sleep. I'll go."

"Bella, that's not—"

I turn on him, narrowing my eyes. "Don't tell me it's not necessary, Edward. I love you, but have you looked at yourself lately? You're exhausted, and it's not doing either one of you any good." I lean on the bed and kiss him softly. "You need to learn to share, love," I tell him, using one of his terms of endearment for me and loving how easily it rolls off my tongue.

He must see the look of resolve in my eyes, because he simply nods and lies back against his pillow while I exit our bedroom and cross the hall. I close Masen's door behind me and head to his crib. His poor little face is all scrunched up and red as he fights against the expert swaddling job that Edward had done—probably because being unswaddled didn't seem to soothe him either. The poor kid doesn't know what he wants.

"Hey," I whisper, leaning over the side of his crib and reaching for him. "You sure do make an awful lot of noise for such a tiny little guy, don't you?" I pick him up, supporting his head as I tuck him against my body and bounce lightly in place while swaying back and forth. I don't know why I do this, but something about it just feels right, you know? Like a primal instinct to nurture sparking to life.

Keeping him pressed securely against me with one arm, I use my other hand to unwrap the blanket from around his feet while keeping his arms secure. In an instant, he kicks them free from the cotton prison and then settles. I smile triumphantly. "Well now," I coo as he sighs against me. "You really are just like your daddy, aren't you? I guess he must have forgotten how he doesn't like his feet covered up, either, huh? What a silly, silly man."

Masen's face returns to its usual fleshy pink colour as he inhales a shaky, yet contented breath and closes his eyes. I don't dare put him down yet, knowing that he likely still needs a few minutes, but I can feel my own exhaustion after a long day starting to sink into my body, making me feel heavily weighted. I give it a bit longer, fighting back yawn after yawn as I hum to Masen, hopefully lulling him back into a deep sleep.

When I suspect he's ready, I move back to the crib and attempt to set him down, but the minute I start to pull my arms from around him, his face scrunches up again as he prepares to cry. I don't let it get that far, though, picking him back up and tucking him against my body; I don't want Edward to come flying in here and taking over. He needs his sleep right now, and I need to prove myself as his equal at this.

However, I'm not sure how much longer I can stand, so I move to the rocking chair, but the minute I sit down and start rocking, my eyes flutter closed and my head falls forward. I immediately stand back up, refusing to allow myself to fall asleep with Masen in my arms. How horrible would I feel if that happened and I let go of him? I would never forgive myself.

That's when I spot my old bed and remember Esme had bought and stored some removable rails under the bed. While I know Masen isn't likely to start rolling over at his age, I'm not going to take any chances. I carefully set Masen in the middle of the bed, continuing to hum and talk to him softly so he doesn't wake, and I set up one of the two rails before moving to the other side of the bed and lying beside him. The second my head hits the pillow, I yawn, no longer strong enough to hold it back. I don't intend to fall asleep in here, but I figure I'll rest my eyes for a few minutes and get Masen into a deep sleep before I put him in his crib and head back to bed with Edward.

I keep Masen close to me, and he must sense the warmth of my body, because he turns his face toward me and inhales deeply, letting the breath escape somewhat fluttery before he starts to suck on his bottom lip. Through sleepy eyes, I watch him sleep for a few minutes, taking my index finger and tracing delicate lines over his forehead and down his cherubic cheeks, then over his nose and chin.

The right side of his mouth curls up into a half-smile, and I'm pretty sure what I'm feeling in my chest is my heart melting at the sight of it. I know that when babies smile, it's said to be gas, but there's no way that's what this is. This is a legitimate sleepy-smile.

Revelling in the moment, I lean forward and kiss his forehead, closing my eyes as I inhale the intoxicating smell of his baby-soft skin over and over again. It's like a drug, and it relaxes me even more. I let my eyes remain closed, telling myself over and over again that I'll give him just one minute more . . .

A soft touch on my shoulder startles me, and I gasp sharply, turning toward the body behind me. My vision is somewhat blurry, and I blink rapidly in an attempt to clear it as Edward's face comes into focus. He's level with me, meaning he's kneeling next to the bed. I find this weird, until my vision continues to clear and I realize I'm not in our room, but the nursery instead. Then I remember coming in here to soothe Masen, and how I'd lain with him on the bed . . .

_Masen!_

Instantly alert, I snap my head back toward the middle of the bed, scared that maybe I rolled over on him in the few minutes of sleep I'd gotten. I find him in exactly the same position he'd been in before I'd closed my eyes, and I watch his chest for movement. When he inhales deeply, I release the breath I'd been holding and place my hand over my hammering heart.

"Oh, thank God," I whisper, flopping my head back on the pillow and turning it toward Edward. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep in here, but he wasn't ready to go back in his crib." My eyes burn slightly, yet my mind feels alert and well-rested—probably thanks to the adrenaline rush of thinking I'd rolled over on Masen!

"No need to be sorry," Edward says, smiling so wide it reaches his eyes . . . his bright green eyes that are no longer surrounded by dark circles of exhaustion. _What?_ I lift my head and look at the clock on the bedside table, my eyes widening in shock as the time registers: 6:00am. Edward chuckles. "Yeah, he slept all night. I can't believe it."

I can't either; Masen has never slept in a stretch longer than a couple hours at a time, and now he'd slept almost seven straight hours! It's unbelievable, yet I feel rested enough that I know it to be true. Of course, regardless of how long he'd slept, I instantly feel guilty for sleeping with him on the bed—isn't that dangerous? I mean, I'm sure I've read horror stories about people who've rolled over onto their babies in the night. What if that had happened?

I apologize again, the guilt of what could have happened weighing heavily on my heart. "I didn't even realize I was _that_ tired," I add onto my apology.

"Sweetheart," Edward says, standing up and moving to the other side of the bed, pulling the railing off and pushing it back under the bed before he joins us. "You have no need to apologize. I consider this a victory. You were able to get him to do something I couldn't, and I should be thanking you."

Sensing a disturbance behind him, Masen stirs as the bed dips beneath Edward. I reach out, not quite ready for him to wake up yet, and stroke his face in the same manner as I had the night before. He releases that soft, shaky breath of contentment again before smiling. Just as it had the night before, seeing his lips twitch up like that turns my heart into a puddle of goo, and I look up at Edward, who's staring down at his son in awe.

"Did he just . . .?"

I find it hard to contain my own smile, and I nod once. "Yeah. He did it last night after I did this, too," I explain quietly, still stroking his soft skin and eliciting a quiet and cutesy baby noise from him. "Pretty cute, huh?"

Edward is rendered speechless as his eyes continue to move from Masen to me, and then back again, and I lie back on my pillow, feeling more like a family in this moment than I have all week. It's a pretty amazing feeling, and I can't believe I was ever worried about any of this. What was there to be so scared of?

Then, out of nowhere, Edward says, "Marry me, Bella."

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><p><strong>AN2: Oh no, I didn't! *snickers* **

**2 chapters and an epilogue left. I know, I know. This is sad news :( There will be an EPOV chapter up next and then a BPOV chapter that will detail a few things that happen over the next few years, and then a VERY special epilogue in a BRAND NEW POV. Can anyone guess whose POV it will be?**


	37. Jumping in Head First

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**I know it's been a few weeks, and I apologize. It's the end of the story, and if any of you have read my other stories while in progress, I tend to take longer with the final chapters due to my denial that things are ending. Is it weird? Definitely. ;)**

**Anyway, I'm not going to bore the shit out of you with a long author's note, because you're probably all wondering what Bella's answer to Edward's question is. Well, here you go :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 37. Jumping in Head First<strong>

The question leaves my mouth before I've given it much thought . . . actually, that's not entirely true; I've thought about asking her to marry me for weeks—months, even. What I hadn't planned was asking her like this. In this moment.

I guess a part of me just couldn't help it in light of the last seven hours.

Since bringing Masen home, sleep has been hard to come by. Pretty par for the course when it comes to newborns, my mother assures me almost daily when she calls to check in. Not that this made me feel any better about being unable to soothe him the way a parent should. Nothing I could do seemed to help, and it was so frustrating.

I didn't feel right asking Bella for help just yet. I guess a part of me was terrified that it might overwhelm her and she'd change her mind about sticking around.

I should have known better.

Truthfully, I've had this bad habit of underestimating her time and time again. Well that stops now.

When I'd put Masen down in his crib the night before, I'd hoped for at least a couple hours of rest, but he had other things in mind. When I first heard him wake, I'd been in the early stages of sleep, contently nestled into bed, my head rested on Bella's abdomen while she read. This had become our bedtime routine as of late, and while I couldn't wait for a bit of normalcy to return to our lives—or for us to eventually adapt to our new life, more accurately—I appreciated Bella's support through it all.

Masen's cry startled me awake and I prepared to launch out of bed, only Bella beat me to it. Yes, I tried to argue against her offer to tend to him, but she was having none of it. I could tell by the look of resolve in her eyes that I wasn't going to win that one. She'd instructed me to turn off the monitor so I could catch a little sleep while she went to Masen's room across the hall, and I was just about to when I heard her gentle voice . . .

"_Hey." _Her tone was soft and soothing, and I smiled, rolling onto my stomach and looking at the monitor as I imagined her picking Masen up out of his crib. I was still a little on edge and ready to intervene at the first sign of Bella having trouble._ "You sure do make an awful lot of noise for such a tiny little guy, don't you?" _Masen's cries ebbed, relaxing me. I probably should have taken this as my cue to sleep, but I couldn't; I was completely engrossed in listening to Bella soothe Masen back to sleep.

"_Well now, you really are just like your daddy, aren't you? I guess he must have forgotten how he doesn't like his feet covered up, either, huh? What a silly, silly man."_

I raked my fingers through my hair, smiling and shaking my head. This wasn't an oversight on my part; I'd tried swaddling Masen, tried uncovering his feet, tried feeding him and changing him . . . nothing worked.

Silence filtered through the monitor, save for the few soft sounds of Bella shuffling around the room, and I rolled back over onto my side of the bed and waited for her to return. It sounded like Masen was asleep, so I hoped we'd be able to get a little sleep before the next wake-up call.

Okay, if I'm being honest, listening to Bella taking care of Masen, her natural maternal instincts shining through, was such a turn-on. And I planned to tell her exactly that. I'd let her decide what happened next, because I knew what I wanted . . .

I'd already known that she'd be wonderful with Masen. I'd gotten that proof the weekend of Rose and Emmett's wedding when I saw her with Jane in the park and then later that night on the dance floor. She was so warm and loving. Everything I'd imagined the mother of my children would be.

As the minutes ticked by, I closed my eyes and awaited her return. When I opened them again, I hadn't been expecting to see the sun beginning to rise, or the time on my alarm clock reading that it was just before six in the morning. Shocked, and the new father in me jumping to the conclusion that something had to be wrong, I bolted out of bed and ran across the hall.

Only, when I opened the door, the sight that greeted me was far from terrifying. It was beautiful and something I wanted to take in for a few more minutes: Bella lying on her left side, her back to the door, and Masen swaddled beside her, his legs free. Her hand rested lightly next to him, her fingers against his belly, and they both breathed deeply and soundly.

Quietly, I crossed the room and kneeled next to her, touching her shoulder lightly. It wasn't my intention to frighten her, so her initial alarm caught me off-guard. I didn't understand it at first until she found Masen resting peacefully beside her and relaxed. After explaining that Masen had slept through the night for the first time since we brought him home, I crawled onto the bed on his other side. He stirred, and I figured that was it—not that I would have complained; seven hours was more than I could've asked for or imagined at this point.

But, in another act that shocked me, Bella reached out and started to run her finger over his face, soothing him back into a peaceful slumber. It was when he smiled that my heart swelled with so much love and pride and complete awe that I spoke without thinking . . .

Bella looks at me, her deep brown eyes darting back and forth between mine as my question registered. Slowly, she pushes herself up, and I mirror her actions, careful not to wake Masen.

"I'm sorry," I rush to say. Though, if I'm being entirely honest, I'm not sorry. I'm excited about the possibility that she might say yes, and I want her to. Yes, it's soon, but when it feels right, it feels right, you know?

"Sorry?" she whispers, her eyebrows pulling together. "So, you didn't mean it?"

I let her question hang in the air for a minute, trying to get a read on how she feels about my slip. I'm picking up nothing, so I thrust my fingers through my hair and shake my head. "No." I laugh at myself. "I mean, _yes_, I meant it . . . I just didn't realize I meant it _now._"

When my eyes meet hers again, I can see her confusion. I take a deep breath and try to elaborate. "I love you. You know that," I begin. "Seeing you with Masen this morning, the two of you both so peaceful and absolutely content, made me realize that this is what I want. You, and only you, for the rest of our lives. I was a fool for not letting you step in before now." I glance down at Masen when he lets out a little squeak and then settles again. "I thought I could handle things on my own because I didn't want to freak you out."

"Edward, I—"

I know it's rude, but I cut her off so I can finish. "It's clear to me now that he needed more than me. He needed you, Bella. Someone warm, caring . . . _maternal_." Pausing, I reach over and take her left hand in mine. "So, yeah, seeing how you are with him—even just this one, absolutely significant moment—makes me realize that I, without a doubt, want to marry you. It wasn't a question I'd intended to ask today, but one day, yeah . . ."

"Yes," she blurts out, but I'm ashamed to admit that I steamroll right over what she's said without giving it much thought.

". . . I don't want you to give up on your dreams or school. I'll wait for as long as we have to before we even start . . ." That's when it registers: she said yes.

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as they move from me to Masen and then back again, her smile so wide _my_ cheeks hurt—of course, that could be due to my own growing grin. "I'm saying yes," she repeats, "to you, to Masen, to us—our _family_. It's true, this isn't how I saw my life playing out last year when I replied to a certain ad." Smiling, I reach across the bed and take her hand in mine as she continues. "I was . . . in a pretty bad place when we met, and you were so great about everything. Yes, I may have misconstrued a few things—"

I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss to the back of it. "Maybe just a few," I agree, remembering how she first thought I was with Rosalie, and then with Emmett.

"Well, I think that was because I was scared to really open myself up to the possibility of another relationship so soon after Jake. I didn't want to get hurt again," she continues. "But you surprised me—and you continue to do so with every passing day. Our situation may not be conventional, but that's exactly what it is: _ours_. I love you—" she looks down to Masen again as he stirs, his big eyes fluttering open "—and I love this little guy even more than I thought possible. Honestly, I don't know why I was so afraid of any of it."

When Masen starts to fuss further, threatening to cry, Bella leans over and picks him up, beating me to it. She cradles him close to her body and smiles at him before raising her gaze back to mine. "So, yes. I'll marry you." She stands up off the bed. "But first, this guy is due for a diaper change and some breakfast. Aren't you?" she coos to Masen, making her way over to the changing table. "Would you mind making a bottle for him?"

I hop off the bed and stand behind her while she starts to change Masen's diaper. I kiss her neck, making her laugh lightly, and then exit the room to do as asked. When I return to the nursery, Bella is sitting on the bed with her back against the headboard, cradling a freshly changed Masen. She's traded his sleeper for a cute little outfit that my mom had bought a while back and left in the dresser.

Bella looks toward me, lifting Masen a little as if to see me also. "There's Daddy, Mase." He seems content enough, taking in all that he can with his limited range of view, as I sit next to them on the bed and hand over the bottle. Bella's grin widens, almost as though she expected me to ask for him so I could feed him.

While Masen eats, Bella leans her head on my shoulder. "I want to wait until Masen's a little older before we get married," she says out of nowhere. "I want him to be a part of it, and I do want to finish school and get started on my career, so that should give us a few years. Are you okay with that?"

I kiss the top of her head and nod. "Absolutely."

Once Masen has had his fill, we head downstairs to fix breakfast for ourselves. Bella refuses to relinquish her hold on Masen, and I'm not about to argue, because he seems more than content in her arms. So, while she cuddles and talks to him, I prepare a hearty breakfast for the two of us.

Over breakfast, I mention that I'd like to catch a morning swim before the shower starts at noon, and Bella nods. "Actually, that sounds good. I can bring Masen out and we can sit poolside. How early do you think we can introduce him to the water?"

I contemplate this for a minute. "I don't know. I know I learned early. I'll look into it. I think I read something somewhere about infant swimming lessons. Might be a good idea if we plan to stay in this house."

"Cool." Bella looks down at Masen again and brushes her nose against his. "Doesn't that sound like fun?" As if responding to her, Masen lets out a little squeal, his arms flapping wildly, and Bella laughs.

At the risk of sounding repetitive, I'll never tire of seeing the two of them like this. I can't believe I was ever worried about overwhelming Bella when this is clearly so natural for her.

Bella offers to clean up breakfast since I cooked, meaning she hands Masen over to me. Now, a part of me wonders if this has anything to do with the dirty diaper he's packing, but I do it anyway. After everything is squared away, we head upstairs and change. I pull on my swim shorts and Bella changes into a tank top and jean shorts—no, not the illegal ones, sadly, but a pair she won't have to change out of when Masen's shower starts.

While I swim my lengths, Bella sits on a lounger beneath the shade of the eaves. Occasionally, I hear her talking to Masen, and when everything falls silent, I realize that he's fallen asleep in her arms for his first nap of the day, and she's watching me raptly. After my swim, Bella and I head into the house and are just heading for the stairs when the front door opens. My mom and dad walk through with armloads of stuff for the shower.

Mom sees Bella holding Masen and smiles warmly, setting her bags down and rushing over to find him fast asleep. She looks mildly disappointed, but shakes it off when she sees how Bella is glowing. Reaching out, she pushes Bella's hair behind her shoulder. "How are you doing?" she asks.

"Great. He slept for seven hours last night, so that was a nice surprise for both of us."

"Oh, how wonderful for you both," Mom replies. "What finally did the trick?"

Smiling proudly, I step forward. "Bella," I say. "He wanted her."

Mom's eyes start to glisten with what appear to be happy tears. "Well, isn't that something."

Bella turns her head to me. "You know what? I think he's going to be out for a bit. Why don't we put him in his crib, and I'll help your mom and dad set up while you shower?"

I nod. "Sure. I can take him up if you want?"

"Um . . ." Bella draws the word out a little longer, and I think I sense a bit of possessiveness in her voice. Apparently her mama bear instincts have come out of hibernation. "I just don't want to risk waking him with too much jostling from parent to parent and then into his crib."

There she goes again . . . calling herself his parent. I know it probably borders on inappropriate that hearing her talk like that turns me on like this, but all I want to do is put Masen in his crib and throw her over my shoulder like a Neanderthal and throw her down on the bed where I plan to ravage and worship her.

But we have company, so that will have to wait.

Bella puts Masen in his crib and turns on the monitor, grabbing it off our nightstand before leaving me to my shower. I don't take too long, knowing that I should be downstairs helping to get everything together, and when I finish, I find that Rose and Emmett have also arrived and Masen is still asleep.

In the next thirty minutes, we manage to get all of the food put out, and our patio looks like the baby shower aisle of the party store threw up on it. White, green, and blue streamers hang from the eaves, twirling and criss-crossing, and paper lanterns hang from it as well. Bella has brought up a couple of the folding tables out from the basement and has them, as well as the patio table, covered in blue and green plastic table covers, and several large bundles of balloons are scattered about. It borders on ridiculous, but it also feels right that this is how we welcome and introduce Masen to the rest of the family.

Suddenly, Masen's cry pierces through the monitor, and I offer to go grab him and bring him down. As I cross through the patio door, I notice that Bella has brought the baby swing out of the living room and has it set up in the shadiest (and coolest) part of the patio, knowing that today is going to be a scorcher.

I change his diaper really quickly, and have barely made it two steps back onto the patio before I am accosted by my mother and Rose. I'm a little surprised that Bella hasn't joined in the fight to take him, but I suspect that's because she knows that once the party's over, we'll have him all to ourselves.

Mom and Rose take turns holding Masen before letting Emmett and my dad have a turn. Now that everything is in order, all that's left to do is wait for the rest of our guests to arrive. This isn't going to be a huge party, with only our closest family and friends being invited, because we don't want to overwhelm Masen. Not that I really think he'll notice too much between his bottles and napping.

Alice and Jasper are the next to arrive, and while I expected Alice to ask to hold Masen right away, it's clear that she's a little nervous around him. Bella explains that Alice has never really been around babies before. Soon after their arrival, Bella's co-worker, Kate, and her boyfriend arrive. Kate's been another emotional rock for Bella during all of this, and I'm glad to see that Bella has such an amazing network of friends to turn to when she needs them. And I'm more than grateful that none of them planned to crucify me when all of this began so many months ago.

The only people left to arrive are Charlie, Renee, and Claire, and when they finally do arrive, both Bella and I are stunned to see a fourth, and unexpected, person with them.

"Gran?" Bella says, completely shocked. She stands from her seat at the patio table and hugs her grandmother. "What are you doing here?"

"Please, like I was going to miss the opportunity to meet my other granddaughter . . ." there's a brief pause as her dark brown eyes fall on Masen in my mother's arms ". . . as well as that little boy over there."

Bella offers her grandmother a seat and then heads over to Esme, who hands Masen over without qualm. Bella then takes him over to her grandmother and sets him gently in her arms. "Gran, this is Masen. He's . . . um . . ." She looks to me, whether out of uncertainty of what to say or for permission to say it, and I nod once. "Well, he's our son. Edward's and mine, I suppose."

Her introduction of Masen is sweet and a little bit awkward, but that's to be expected given our situation and how it might seem to a woman who comes from another time when situations like this were extremely rare. Sure, I worry about what Gran might do or say, how she might disapprove of this entire thing we have going on, but, just like her granddaughter, she surprises me.

"Well, I'm glad to have met the first of what I hope to be many great-grandchildren," she says, stroking the fine hair from his forehead. She looks up at Bella, then to me. "He's a very handsome boy. You should both be very proud."

Bella laughs. "We are," she assures her.

For the next couple of hours, everyone takes turns holding both Masen and Claire. The food is great—a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, along with finger sandwiches and wraps—and before Masen indicates that he's ready for his next nap, we open his gifts while Renee and Charlie open the ones brought for Claire since they were born within hours of one another.

Because we already had all of the major necessities, most of Masen's gifts were clothes for when he outgrows his newborn ones and diapers. Holy shit, are there a lot of diapers. It's not long before Masen starts to show signs of being tired, and all of our guests decide it's time to go. Bella's grandmother is going to be in town for another week, so we plan to get together again a few times before she's set to return home again.

After everyone leaves, Bella feeds and changes Masen one last time before she puts him down, and I get a head start on clean-up duty. I've just finished packing up the food and running the dish water when Bella walks into the kitchen and starts washing the dishes.

"Today was fun," I tell her, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist, my lips trailing up the side of her neck and to her ear. My fingers tease the hem of her shirt, lifting it up until they make contact with her goosebump-riddled abdomen.

"Mmm," she hums, dropping the spoon she was washing to the bottom of the sink and struggling to retrieve it. "Yup. Good times." When she inhales, it's soft and shaky; a sound that proves her acquiescence to my seduction technique.

I slip her button through the eyelet and pull her zipper down slowly, feeling each click as it lowers all the way. She doesn't protest—not that I expect she would—and I slip my hand inside her panties to find her warm and ready for me. She moans the minute my fingers slip between her legs, and I grind my growing erection against her ass, pressing her against the counter. It's been far too long since we've been intimate with one another, so it really doesn't take much to get me worked up.

"Edward," she groans, dropping the dish back into the sink and turning in my arms, forcing my hand from between her thighs as she plunges her wet, soapy hands into my hair and kisses me hard.

Weeks of pent-up sexual frustration explode in that moment. It wasn't my intention to start something right this second—no, really, it wasn't. I'd actually hoped to finish up here, have a glass of wine, and let the evening play out. Of course, I'd hoped that the evening would include sex—I'm a guy—but I wanted to take her upstairs to our bed before anything happened.

Clearly, this isn't happening. Not that either of us is complaining a bit as we rip each other's clothes off.

Bella's shorts and panties fall from her legs into a pool around her feet, and she works fast to discard me of my pants and boxers, as well. We step out of them, and Bella pushes me up against the fridge, making the contents in the doors rattle behind me as she works to unbutton the shirt I'm wearing and pushes it down my shoulders. I stand before her, naked, but before she can kiss me again, I rid her of her top also, tossing it onto the counter behind her before pulling her back into my arms. The fridge is cold against my back, acting counter-productively much like a cold shower would, but when Bella pushes me harder, activating the cold water spout in the fridge door, I yelp against her lips and rush us toward the island and away from the unexpected cold water raining down my ass and legs.

Bella laughs as I lift her onto the counter—a counter that's been used for this purpose before—and then sighs when our lips meet again in a softer, deeper kiss. My hands explore her body, rising over the natural swells of her womanly curves until I'm happily palming her breasts, and she snakes a hand between us to guide me into her.

She must be just as aware as I am that we can no longer afford the luxury of drawing this out for too long. If we do, we risk Masen waking up and being unable to finish what we've started. Not that I want to prolong the actual act; like I said, it's been weeks, and I'm feeling pretty damn desperate to be inside of her.

I waste no time pushing my hips forward, Bella's heels digging into my ass and encouraging me. It's as though she's afraid I'll change my mind at the last second. What a ridiculous notion.

Bella throws her head back, gasping for air as I thrust into her slowly the first couple of times, and I kiss down the length of her throat, continuing over her collarbone and sternum until I'm hunched slightly and drawing a nipple into my mouth. She gasps, arching her back into me when my teeth graze the puckered flesh. Her mounting cries and breathing indicate that she's rounding the corner to her release, so I increase my efforts to join her. The pressure in my belly begins to build, swelling outward until my arms and legs start to tighten and tingle.

Seeming unable to keep herself upright anymore, Bella lays back on the island, her back arched off the marble countertop as I continue to pump and thrust between her legs. At this angle, I hit her a little deeper, causing her to moan a little louder and her skin to blush a little deeper. My orgasm threatens to pull me under, but I need to bring Bella with me, so I drop a hand and begin to stroke her clit with my index finger. Her hips buck upward, her legs tighten around me, and her pussy clenches my length as we both climax together.

My hips move slowly a few more times as I let the after-effects of my orgasm slowly ebb, and Bella sighs happily, relaxing her back against the counter and squirming around me. Still inside her, I kiss the skin of her chest, paying equal attention to each breast, and she brings her hands up and caresses my face before running her fingers through my hair. She's obsessed with my hair, and I'm okay with that, because there's almost nothing more calming than her giving me a scalp massage right after sex.

As she continues to drag her short nails over my scalp, I draw her left hand from my hair and press a kiss to her palm, realizing for the first time that we forgot to share some very important news with everyone today. "We forgot to tell everyone we're getting married," I tell her, resting my head against her sternum and listening to the rapid pounding of her heart slow to its natural rhythm.

Bella hums, still running her fingers through my hair. "That's okay," she replies softly. "We have plenty of time."

We remain in this position for a few more minutes, basking in the sheer perfection of the moment. While I'd originally hoped for it to be a little more romantic—I know, how very masculine of me, right?—this is what we're known for. Our relationship has always been kind of a whirlwind, and we're always doing things a little out of order. But that's what makes it so great. We surprise each other at every turn, keeping one another constantly on our toes.

As I look back on our relationship these last eight months, I realize that I owe it all to one little ad I placed. Had it not been for a certain ad boasting an incredible view, I never would have met this amazing woman who came into my life, somewhat broken and vulnerable, and I helped her rediscover herself while she taught me about the kind of man I want to be. And, yes, while some people may not understand it, choosing to scrutinize and judge us by the choices we've made, _we_ know that everything we've done to this point has been right for us, and I can't imagine the rest of my life without her.

More importantly, I can't wait to see what our future has in store for us, and I start imagining the possibilities immediately.

Yes, I'd say the view from here is pretty incredible.

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><p><strong>AN2: Well, she said yes, and Masen's shower was a big hit. What did you all think of Edward's final chapter? I know you're probably all curious how I could possibly wrap up the rest of this story in one chapter plus an epilogue when we still have yet to see them get married, but believe me, it can be done. Bella's final chapter will also be an epilogue of sorts, chronicling the big moments of their lives as a family over the span of a few years, and then the epilogue will (I hope) be an amazing look into another character's head.**

**So, do what you all do best and leave me a little love. The continued support of my readers throughout this, as well as all of my other stories is what keeps me going. If not for you, I'd just be that crazy lady talking to herself.**

**Until next time . . .**

**xoxo**


	38. All the Time in the World

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**Sorry this took a little longer than expected. Myhusband and I took our two children on a road trip to Vancouver Island for a week, so I was without internet access for a bit ;) I hope the wait for this chapter-the final before the epilogue-was worth it :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 38. All the Time in the World<strong>

Our life, since Masen arrived in it, has been a whirlwind. I mean that in the best possible sense of the word. He changed my life in the best way imaginable, and I still, to this day, can't imagine where Edward and I would be without him. At the risk of sounding completely corny, he completed us in a way that I can't even describe accurately, and I'm not so sure that a lot of people would even understand how a child who's not even biologically mine could do something like this.

But he did.

The day after the shower, Edward asked if I'd be okay to watch Masen by myself for a bit. He didn't want me to feel obligated, saying that he would be more than happy to take Masen with him. I practically shoved him out the door while holding Masen in my arms.

Honestly, I was grateful for the time alone with him. I think it gave us the opportunity to bond even more than we already were. As I sat in the living room, holding Masen's tiny sleeping body—I just couldn't bring myself to put him into bed, favouring the idea of watching him sleep peacefully in my arms—I fully understood what Esme said when I went to her with questions months earlier.

"_I'd be lying if I told you I didn't worry that I'd be lacking some kind of maternal bond with my child because I didn't carry him in my womb for nine months, Bella, but the minute I looked into his eyes, I knew he was my son. I could feel it . . . on a much deeper level than anything remotely biological."_

That's exactly how I feel about Masen—even more _now_ than I did back then.

When Edward returned home that afternoon, I was surprised to find out the nature of his errand: he presented me with an engagement ring.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted," he'd said, kneeling on the floor in front of me. I was still sitting on the couch, unable to move since Masen was still asleep in my arms.

I remember looking down at the ring: a square-cut centre diamond floating in a modern Tiffany setting above a thin, diamond encrusted band. I'd never really given much thought to what my engagement ring might look like. Probably because I was still only twenty and didn't really think that's where I would be in my life until meeting Edward.

Tears had sprung to my eyes, and my head bobbed up and down excitedly as I struggled to find the words to tell him just how perfect it was. Sobbing, I held out my trembling left hand, and Edward slipped the ring onto my finger with a smile. It was a little big, but Edward assured me we could get it sized. And we did . . . a few days later, because I wasn't quite ready to part with it just yet.

We told our parents almost immediately, having waited until after Masen's baby shower since that day was meant to be about him. Then we told our friends. By the time I started school again in the fall, the news had reached a few of the people I knew but didn't talk to on a regular basis, and they all congratulated me . . .

Well, all but two of them.

Leah didn't say two words to me, which was fine by me, because I still hated her—not so much for ruining my relationship with Jake. No, for that I was grateful; had she not overstepped her boundaries, then I'd have never met Edward. I suppose I should've been thanking her.

When I saw Jake on the first day of school, I had no intentions of talking to him, so I simply ignored him when he called my name. I refused to acknowledge the fact that he tagged along behind Alice and me as we made our way to the food court at lunch, and I tried really hard to keep this up when he followed me out to the parking lot after my last class, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

"You're getting married." He wasn't asking. He stated it as fact, and I simply nodded, wondering what concern it was of his. "When?"

"We don't have a date set yet," I informed him coolly. "Probably in a few years." While I knew I didn't owe him a damn thing, I hoped that what I was about to say next would drive the point home that I was over him the second he stepped out of my dorm room after having fucked my roommate. "We want to wait until our son is old enough to understand and participate."

His eyes widened as they fell to my abdomen. "You're pregnant?"

I heard the purr of a familiar engine—no, not Edward's Vanquish; he traded that in for a more family-oriented Volvo—and I looked around Jake to see Edward stepping out of the car. He glanced at Jake, his eyes narrowing with contempt. It still makes me strangely happy when he feels the need to be possessive over me.

Instead of waiting to see his mood darken any more, I threw a quick "bye" Jake's way and rushed toward the Volvo. Edward stepped around the back of the vehicle as I arrived and I was elated to see he'd picked Masen up from Esme already. I dropped my bag to the ground and took Masen, snuggling him and saying hello. He gave me a little squeal of excitement, his tiny lips quirking up into a smile as he tugged on my hair.

Through my periphery, I watched Jake turn and walk away, and I felt a sense of finality to that chapter in my life once and for all. He was able to see that I'd moved on completely and that, no matter what he had to say or do, nothing would bring me back to him.

Over the next couple of months, we had several others—mostly our mothers—ask about the wedding planning and, more importantly, "When?" It was a fair question, and one I was prepared to answer and justify when they followed up with "Why the wait?"

It's true; Edward and I didn't have to wait to get married. There was nothing stopping us from becoming a family on paper like we already were in our hearts. It's not like there were any tax exemptions if we stayed single for a bit longer, not to mention, people my age and in college got married all the time. So why the wait, indeed . . .

Well, the first and most important reason that I wanted to wait was for Masen. I wanted him to be an active participant in our wedding. Claire, too. This just wasn't a possibility with the two of them being so young. Secondly, I wanted to be able to focus on school, and I knew that if I were planning a wedding, I'd let that take priority—and, yes, my family was absolutely a priority now, but so was getting the best education I could so I was able to contribute financially and set a good example for when they got older. I also didn't want to add any undue stress on either Edward or myself. I've seen those shows where the bride completely loses her mind while planning a wedding, and while I understand they're edited to depict these women a certain way, I know that they have to hold some truth. This didn't seem like something I wanted to inject into my life alongside my gruelling course-load _as well as_ adjusting to our new roles as parents.

True, we could have just gone down to the courthouse and gotten married, but that wasn't what either of us wanted. Having been through so much in our first year together, we wanted to do things right and celebrate in a big way, with all of our friends and family by our sides. Not everyone understood this, but that didn't matter. Edward and I agreed on this. He never once thought that my wanting to wait had something to do with some part of me being unable to commit to him and Masen. That would be ridiculous. We did what worked for us, and when our wedding day came, it couldn't have been more perfect.

It may have taken us five years since Masen was born, but we did get married, and I'll never forget the look on Edward's face when he saw me walking down that aisle in my wedding gown. Upon reaching my place by his side, I felt the energy in the room, and I just knew that we'd made the right decision to wait. Masen and Claire were the perfect age to act as our flower girl and ring bearer, and they looked absolutely adorable sitting in the front row with our parents while we vowed to be together forever.

Everything about that day was perfect: the ceremony, the reception, and the decorations that set the mood for it all with the soft, luxurious fabrics and linens in a palate of blues and purples. We danced all night, indulged in more wine—now that I was a couple of years over the ripe-old age of twenty-one, of course—and celebrated our relationship and all that we'd been through to get there. Esme took Masen that night, and Edward surprised me with a room at _The Pointe Hilton_—the resort that houses _Different Pointe of View_; the very same restaurant Edward took me on our first date. He'd booked the room for the entire weekend, and even more surprising was how he'd taken the extra measures to have the bed dusted with rose petals, a bottle of champagne chilling by the oversized Jacuzzi, and candles washing the room in a beautiful glow.

I hear that a lot of couples are too tired to properly consummate their relationships on the night of their actual wedding, but you can absolutely bet your life I pushed through any exhaustion I may have been feeling and showed him just how much I appreciated this grand gesture.

We barely left the bed in one piece.

Having gotten married in August, we decided to forego an immediate honeymoon, instead saving that time off for a trip up to the cabin at Christmastime. We wouldn't go alone, though; we planned to take Masen, and we even invited both of our families. Admittedly, we didn't have enough room for everyone, but we still offered to try and make room. They all graciously declined, though, telling us they'd just rent a small condo together nearby for the week. It was all so perfect, and I loved seeing Masen's reaction to the snow for the first time. Hell, I loved seeing his reaction to _anything_ for the first time. He looked at the world with so much wonder and awe that it often rendered me speechless. Everything seemed magical to him, and his first experience with the snow was no different.

I found myself loving him more and more every single day, and I honestly didn't know that was possible. It's like my heart continued to grow to accommodate it all.

We took him sledding and walking the trails around the house, and he ate up every second of it before we returned home. Having had a long morning, he showed signs of a tantrum when we arrived back at the cabin and thought he was going inside. He quickly changed his tune when Edward started to show him how to make a snowman. I took that as my cue to head inside to prepare some hot cocoa for my two men, and when it was ready, I poked my head outside to find them both on their backs in the front yard making snow angels. Masen squealed with excitement, clapping his mitted hands as he stared down at their achievement.

"Look, Mama!" he shouted from the yard after spotting me, and even after all these years, hearing him call me that makes my stomach flip and my heart swell with love for him.

Of course, even more than hearing him acknowledge me this way is when strangers recognize our relationship for what it is.

In the beginning, I remember getting a lot of . . . I don't know . . . it seemed like sympathy from most people. _"Oh, he must look a lot like his father,"_ they'd say in surprise when they'd see the two of us out, curious about the sleeping baby I was pushing in a stroller or wearing in the sling.

Now, obviously I didn't expect Masen to look like me because that was impossible due to the fact that I didn't share any DNA with the boy, but it still stung a little to be reminded of this. And they were one-hundred percent right: he did look like Edward. More so than he did Irina. In fact, he had hardly any of Irina's defining characteristics other than the dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. I embraced that one tiny piece of her that he carried, though, because he was the best gift she could have given to me.

It took a while, but eventually I'd grown a thick enough skin, and when people would comment on how he didn't resemble me, I'd learned to reply with "He's his father's spitting image." That's when I learned none of them ever meant anything by it; it was just a simple observation by people who had no idea of our situation. Yes, I realize it was stupid to be upset about what people said or how I'd interpreted it, because he was my son, regardless of whether we shared genetic markers in our DNA or not.

My response to this had become so second nature that it caught me completely off-guard when I took Mase out shopping for Edward's birthday present years later and a stranger stopped and told me how much he looked like me. I couldn't understand what she'd meant by it, because it was absolutely impossible. He had Edward's coppery hair, his green eyes, his nose . . .

But it was then, when I was looking over this perfect almost-six-year-old, that I realized she wasn't seeing our _physical_ similarities but how so many of his mannerisms mirrored my own. The way he arched his eyebrow or scrunched his adorable little nose when he smiled, the way he annunciated his words, or even how he'd bite on his lower lip . . .

I was frozen in that revelation for a moment until Masen tugged on my arm and asked if we were going to go buy Daddy's present now.

What did we get him?

Well, Mase painted him a coffee mug that said "World's Best Dad," and I bought a shirt for Masen to wear out to dinner that announced he was going to be a big brother.

Yup, I was pregnant with our second child—a girl we named Antonia "Toni" Marie Cullen.

When Masen understood that I was carrying a baby in my stomach, this opened up a world of questions. We'd never lied to Masen, but we didn't discuss how he came into the world either. He's always known that we're his parents and that we love him, and that's all he had to know in those early years. He was too young to fully understand the legality or emotions behind our situation surrounding his birth.

We were more than prepared for his questions, though, having discussed it at length for years, knowing that he'd ask eventually. Especially when we'd decided to start trying to get pregnant.

I don't think I expected him to react negatively to the news that I didn't grow him in my belly like I was his sister, but I didn't expect him to be as accepting as he was either. His maturity really blew me away. He asked about the woman who gave birth to him, but never once did he acknowledge her as his mother or any part of his family. He knows her as "Irina" and that she gave him to us knowing we'd give him a life she couldn't. He wasn't mad. He never asked to see pictures (even though we have them at the ready if he ever does), and he has never once asked to meet her.

Not even now, seventeen years later.

Masen seemed interested in the physical changes I went through—especially my growing belly. He wasn't the only one, either; Edward was just as interested. Sometimes even a little overzealous.

We marvelled over the changes in my body. How my belly swelled as the baby grew, her first kicks, and even those moments toward the end where she'd stretch out, her feet pressing into my ribs and her head into my bladder. While that last one wasn't nearly as wonderful due to the increased risk of me wetting myself, it was still pretty incredible to watch my belly move like that. Naturally, Edward took an especially deep interest in my growing chest size.

Men.

The pregnancy, while it had its share of bad times right alongside the great, was a dream. I experienced the weird cravings that Edward rushed out to fulfill at the most inconvenient hours, the sore, swollen feet that he'd massage for hours on the couch after a long day at work, and even bouts of all-day sickness that he'd rub my back through. He didn't let me down through the labour or delivery part of it either. He was right there by my side through it all, holding my hand while I squeezed the life out of it as a contraction ripped through my abdomen.

Yes, "ripped" is how I would describe that particular feeling.

Now, I know that when my mom had Claire, I said I'd be getting the epidural, but Edward and I had talked long before we even got pregnant and decided that this would be our only biological child together, so I wanted to experience absolutely everything. Now, hold on a second . . . that's not to say I didn't want to have more of his biological children—I would have if that's what we wanted, obviously—but we'd decided, long before even conceiving Toni that we'd adopt our third, and final, child. We both knew we wanted three children and that we would never feel more strongly about one child over the other, no matter what.

After everything we'd been through with Masen, I'd mentioned to Edward that I would be happiest with a truly blended family, and for all of our children to learn what Edward and I had: that you don't need to share blood to love your child. This decision made sense given how we'd gotten our start as a family, and Edward felt particularly strongly about it considering he was adopted and knew firsthand what that meant for all involved.

So, when Toni was five and Masen was on the cusp of his twelfth birthday, we began the adoption process. We had the money saved up, having been saving since after the wedding for the right time to do this, and we began the interview process. After several months, they paired us with a six-month-old little girl from South Africa named Zafrina. There was a ton of paperwork that still had to be done before we could go pick her up, but we were more than eager to welcome her to our family. The weeks leading up to our trip to go get her was filled with work around the house.

The biggest issue being: where were we going to put her? Masen was still in his room and Toni in the remodelled game-room. Would we sell? Room two of the kids together when Zafrina was older, meaning she'd have to bunk in our room until then?

With such large age gaps between the kids, the roommate situation didn't make sense, so Edward and I made the tough decision to start looking at bigger places . . .

Until Masen decided he wanted to move down into the basement. At first, I wasn't so sure about this, but there was really no reason to worry. I mean, the basement was finished, fully-heated, and secure. He was in absolutely no danger down there. I think I just didn't like the idea of being so far away from my baby—not that I ever call him that, because I know he hates it now.

So, with Masen in the basement and Toni no longer at risk of having to share her room with an infant, we had the chore of transforming my original bedroom into a nursery fit for our new little princess.

Having never met her, we weren't sure what kinds of things she'd really love—yes, even at such a young age. I sat down with Esme, though, and we decided (with Edward's approval) to stick with a theme that might make her feel more at home while she adjusted. We stuck with neutral tones, inserting splashes of light pinks and corals amongst all the chocolate browns and taupes. Though it may have been a little over-kill, we bought several very large stuffed animals that we'd learned were native to her area of the world and used them to bring the room alive. It was perfect, and I'd like to think she loved it and that it helped her transition much quicker.

Or course, it could have been that natural resilience that most children have to new situations.

Whatever it was, Zafrina adjusted to her life here within days.

We'd gotten the call to go get her two days before our anniversary, and after arranging for Esme and Carlisle to take the kids, we hopped a plane and flew out to her. The kids were so excited for us to bring their new sister home and practically pushed us out the door before we had a chance to thank Esme and Carlisle.

Naturally, my nerves made themselves known. I was a wreck for the weeks leading up to the call, and then the entire flight. It wasn't a question of whether or not I'd love her—I knew I would, without a doubt—but what if she didn't feel the same way? Esme helped me through those emotions as best she could just like she did with Masen, having lived them firsthand herself. She assured me that while it could be a difficult adjustment for Zafrina, she'd be fine—that we'd all be fine—and that she'd love us just as unconditionally as we did her. It was what I needed to hear to assuage my fears, even if it was only a little bit.

We got to the small hotel we'd be staying at that first night since our flight got in so late, and neither Edward nor I slept a wink; adrenaline was pumping through our veins. There was a huge checklist of things we had to do, and I was so scared we'd forgotten something. We'd brought clothes for her, a car seat, diapers, and all the other things we'd need for the couple of days we'd spend here before taking her home. We went over everything several times before the sun came up, and by then, we only had a couple hours before we had to go pick her up. Still wired, we decided to give up on finding sleep, knowing that we'd likely get some once we had her in our arms—or at least hoped that was the case!

Those next few hours were . . . well, they were interesting, to say the least.

Edward and I ran around that damn hotel room like a couple of crazy people. We'd changed our clothes countless times, unable to decide what looked "right."

"I look like a door-to-door salesman," he grumbled, looking in the mirror as he pulled the tie from the collar of his dress shirt and shrugged his suit jacket off.

I sighed, scowling at my own reflection and wondering what-the-hell ever possessed me to buy the knee-length floral dress with the high collar. "Yeah, well, I look like a Stepford wife."

This went on for over an hour.

Once we'd decided to dress comfortably, yet not like the exhausted parents-to-be we were, we headed into the bathroom. I was applying my makeup with shaky hands, which meant there was a lot of removal and reapplications of eyeshadows, liners, lip glosses—basically everything I tried to put on my face. Beside me, Edward chuckled as he watched me wipe lip gloss off my eyelid—an honest mistake if one's gone almost forty-eight hours with little sleep.

"You can't meet our daughter like that," he said through his laughter as he set his razor down and reached for a square of tissue to staunch the bleeding caused by his own trembling.

I giggled a little myself, setting my makeup down and deciding that less really is more, and turned to him. I hopped up onto the bathroom counter and tugged him closer to me. He pressed his way between my thighs as I helped him with the few cuts he had on his neck. "And you can't meet her with your neck looking like this. Don't want to frighten the poor thing, do you?" I teased softly, and in that one small moment, everything settled down.

We were still excited, of course, but the nervous anticipation faded minutely, and Edward and I were able to find a second to ourselves to really take in the moment.

He laid his hands on my thighs, squeezing slightly, and looked into my eyes. We didn't have to say a word to each other right then as he leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to mine.

We were ready.

When we arrived at the orphanage we'd be picking Zafrina up from, my body trembled, not with nerves, but only with anticipation now. We stood outside for a minute, waiting for her to be brought out to us, and I could feel warm tears beginning to well up in my eyes, but I held them back.

"_Don't cry," _the woman who had placed us together had told us before we arrived. _"It's possible she could view it as fear or unhappiness, and you don't want her to react the same way."_

It seemed like a silly request, but as I looked around at other mothers who failed to hold back their tears, I could see what she meant; a few of the children were mirroring this reaction.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes fiercely, being sure to take care not to smudge my mascara. Once my eyes felt dry enough, I squared my shoulders and exhaled deeply, and we waited a few minutes more.

I recognized her the second she emerged in the arms of one of the women who ran the orphanage, and, just like the day I met Masen, when my eyes met Zafrina's, that last piece fell into place. Our family was complete.

It surprised me when she reached for me, and I fought to hold back more tears when she reached up and touched my face as I held her in my arms. She knew just as well as we did that she was at home in our arms and that we would never let her go.

Edward and I took her back to our hotel for the night and we cuddled with her in the bed until sleep found the three of us. Unlike our last two kids, Zafrina was a seasoned sleeper, which meant we got just enough sleep to brave the flight back home.

Esme and Carlisle had brought the kids back to the house before we'd arrived, and Toni seemed a little nervous around the baby for a little while. I think she was just afraid of hurting her. Masen, on the other hand absolutely adored his new baby sister. While he loved Toni as much as a twelve-year-old boy would ever admit, he felt a kinship to Zafrina due to the unusual circumstances that had secured their places in this family. This isn't to say he favoured one girl over the other, because he loved them both equally but related to them in different ways. He understood that while he was a "real" brother to both girls, he was just as aware of the fact that he shared their father's genetic bond with Toni as he was that he shared an equally as deep emotional bond with Zafrina given I'd adopted them both and loved them regardless of our DNA.

There was one day, shortly after we brought her home, that I was walking toward her room, stopping when I realized Mase was already in there, having beaten me to her when she started crying. I didn't want to startle either of them, so I just hung back in the doorway and listened to the two of them, curious.

"Most kids grow in their mom's bellies," he'd whispered to her, reaching over the crib rail and patting her belly. At twelve, he was already a little taller than me, so he didn't have to stand on his tip-toes or anything. "Not you and me, though. I like to think we grew in her heart first, and that's gotta be pretty special." I continued to hang back as he talked, placing my fingertips over my lips to suppress any noise that would undoubtedly try to escape.

"You're still pretty little, but you should know you picked the best family. Mom and Dad are both pretty great, you'll see. I'm glad they brought you home finally. We've all been so excited to meet you."

Zafrina cooed as if in response to him, and I stifled a giggle at the cute scene playing out in front of me as I wiped a few tears off my cheek before stepping into the room.

"Mase?" I said quietly so as not to startle him.

"Oh, hey, Mom. I was just talking to the baby. I heard her crying."

I smiled, fighting the next onslaught of tears. "Thanks, buddy." He moved to leave me and Zafrina alone in the room, and I stopped him before he hit the hall. "Hey, Mase?" He turned around, eyes wide and possibly worried that he was in trouble for something. "You're right, you know." His eyebrows shot up curiously. "My love for you and Zafrina grew in my heart long before I even met the two of you, and that is special."

The corners of Masen's mouth twisted up, and a light shade of pink filled his cheeks, working its way up to the tips of his ears. I'd embarrassed him a little, but the fact that he still stood there told me he didn't mind too much.

"Moooom," he complained weakly, looking down at his feet.

I laughed, lifting Zafrina out of her crib. "Go on," I told him, giving him permission to flee before I "embarrassed" him further. "Go see if your dad needs a hand with dinner."

With that, Masen fled the room, thundering down the stairs like a herd of elephants and leaving me alone with the newest member of our family.

I often find myself looking back on those days as our children grew up. Masen is now seventeen and about to graduate as Valedictorian from high school, Toni is ten and starts grade four in the fall, while my little Zafrina starts kindergarten at the same time. I can't believe how fast the years have flown by.

I used to think I had all the time in the world, but before I know it, all of my kids will have left the nest on their own adventures. I don't begrudge them this, because without venturing out into the world on my own adventures, I don't know that I would have found my happily ever after when I did.

Smiling, I put the final touches on the kids' lunches for school (daycare for Zafrina), and start to wonder what the future might bring for us. As if on cue, Edward walks into the kitchen from his morning swim, kisses me on the cheek while I finish up, and heads off toward the bedroom to get ready for his day, giving me a prime view of his water-slickened back and the water rivulets trailing down the curve of his spine and beneath the waist of his suit.

The years have been kind to him—to us both, I suppose. He's still active, so his body is still in amazing shape at forty-five. While he's gained a few extra laugh lines and creases, I'm loving the flecks of grey that are scattered through his hair. It's very distinguished.

I'm not nearly accepting of the few greys I have, though, and book monthly appointments with my hair stylist to get rid of them.

I watch him disappear, and a rush of warmth floods my veins as I begin to imagine all the things I could do to him in the half hour we'll have alone before having to go to work. Suddenly, I can't wait to get the kids off to school. We pride ourselves on having kept most of the romance and spontaneity in our relationship over the years with three kids. It's been difficult at times, and both Masen and Toni are at the age where they think us kissing each other goodbye is grounds for us to "get a room," but deep down, I know they're really glad that our relationship is showing no signs of distress, unlike so many of their classmates.

I know this because I felt that way about my own parents—who are still very happily married.

The squeaky footsteps of our three kids yank me from my lewd thoughts as they traipse pool water through my kitchen, shouting their apologies as they head to their rooms to change for school after their morning swim with their dad.

With a sigh, I start to mop up the water. Most people would grumble and complain about this sort of thing, but I do it all with a smile, revelling in it because I'd happily clean up after their morning swims for years to come knowing they'll show their appreciation when they return for breakfast. Plus, I know I'll miss this sort of thing way into the future when it's just Edward and me again.

I'm just putting the mop away when Masen proves me right.

"Oh," he says, his voice now deep and very much like his father's. "You cleaned it up already." He steps farther into the kitchen and sits at the island while I set their lunch bags aside and start on breakfast. "I'd have done that, Mom."

"I know, Mase," I assure him.

"Well, thanks. Dad wanted us to hurry and get ready so we could sit and have breakfast before everyone headed out."

I smile. "I assumed as much. No need to thank me."

Masen shrugs his shoulders as I cut into the cantaloupe. "Well, how about I take Toni and Zee to school?"

And there it is. My boy never lets me down.

"If you want," I tell him. "That would be great."

He beams, proud of himself for offering to drive the girls so selflessly. "Cool. Can I help with breakfast?"

Yet another offer of assistance this morning. See? They make up for their very minor indiscretions in very big ways.

"Sure. You want to make the fruit salad or the pancakes?"

He claims the pancakes, and together, we get breakfast ready for everyone while Edward struggles to get the girls ready for school upstairs.

"NO!" I hear Zee cry out. "Not _that_ dress, Daddy! I want the lellow one!"

"Zee, the yellow one is dirty. You wore it yesterday, remember?"

Silence, and then a tiny "Oh, yeah" is heard as she admits defeat.

"Toni? How are you doing? You almost ready?"

"Uh huh!"

I hear Edward and Zee head for the stairs and then they stop right after I hear Toni slam her door.

"_What_ is that on your face?"

"Makeup," Toni replies as though Edward actually has no idea.

I hear him sigh—yes, even from here—and I imagine he's rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. "Okay, I suppose a better question would be where did you get it, and _why_ are you wearing it?"

"Uh, because all the other girls wear it."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I know I shouldn't laugh; it's not funny, and I know I'd be equally as frustrated to be talking to my ten-year-old about it, too. Masen, however, has no problem chuckling beside me. I elbow him and shake my head disapprovingly. He sees through it, naturally, and rolls his eyes jokingly.

"Well, you're not 'all the other girls,'" he reminds her. "Go wash it off, please."

She huffs, stomping down the hall to the washroom. "Fine!"

Still no movement from the top of the stairs, and I know Edward's waiting to make sure she does as instructed. Finally, she emerges and they all enter the kitchen together. The girls head to the table and Edward rounds the island to grab a coffee.

"Everything go okay?" I ask, and Masen snickers beside me.

"Perfectly," Edward replies, somewhat sarcastically, coming to kiss me softly on the lips.

"This is normal for a girl her age," I whisper when he pulls away, remembering how I used to pull the same stuff on my parents, and how Mom had called me complaining of Claire doing the same thing a few years ago.

Edward takes a sip of his coffee and grumbles, "Well, I still don't like it."

"I don't think we're meant to."

Edward joins the girls at the table, and it's like the argument between him and Toni has been forgotten as they talk and laugh about their swim that morning. I'm glad she seems to have moved on from what she probably feels is a huge injustice, and I'll have to be sure to check her bag for any contraband makeup to avoid her dad having a heart attack when he realizes that's what happens when you outlaw makeup to a pre-teen.

Over breakfast, I let Edward know that Masen has offered to take the kids to school, and he seems a little taken aback. When his eyes catch mine, I know he's come to the same conclusion I had earlier, and that we'll definitely be taking advantage of this rare opportunity for alone-time this early in the day.

The only thing that has yet to be decided is where? Since having the kids, we've mostly been confined to our bedroom or the shower. Sex anywhere else in the house has pretty much ceased to exist unless they're with their grandparents or at a friend's house.

Edward continues to hold my gaze across the table as the kids gather their things and say goodbye to us, kissing our cheeks before bolting for the front door and leaving us with the clean-up so they won't be late. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes my toes curl, and I suddenly realize we likely won't make it out of the kitchen.

And I'm okay with that since I've always been a fan of that damn counter . . .

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><p><strong>AN2: So, I know most of this chapter was more of a reflection of the last few years. I felt it important to touch on each milestone instead of going into excruciating detail. I detailed the important moments while keeping them short and sweet to get them told in this chapter. And I only touched on the wedding because, to be honest, it's been written to death by every other FF author—myself included. I think it was important for THESE TWO to end like this, and I hope you enjoyed Bella's final chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. This story's been going on for over a year, and it's time to put it to bed. I've loved every step of the way (negative reviews included ;)) and I'm so happy to have entertained you all!**

**Please stay tuned for the epilogue in an all-new POV. I should have it written in a week or so since I'm back from holidays now! **

**Until next time.**

**xoxo**


	39. Epilogue My Story

**A/N: **_**Twilight**_** and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Any similarities to the original characters or themes from the books or media franchise are used here for entertainment purposes only, with no monetary gain for me, the FanFiction author. All original content, ideas, and intellectual property of **_**Rm w/ a Vu**_** are mine . . .**

**. . . but the responsibility for the replacement of any ruined articles of clothing due to spontaneous combustion after reading the citrusy parts of this story is all yours.**

**Here it is *sniffle* the very end of our long journey together. Enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Epilogue. My Story<strong>

The story of my life isn't typical or even considered normal by society's standards . . . or I suppose it wouldn't be considered that way a few decades ago. Nowadays, it's not uncommon to be a part of a blended family. However, unlike most other blended families, I don't come from a broken home. Not really. My parents have been together since before I was born. My situation is . . . unique.

How unique? Well, it's no secret to anyone close to us that my mother never gave birth to me. She adopted me just shortly after she married my dad when I was five, but raised me from birth.

As I'd been told—though a lot of the details have been kept from me, thankfully—my mom met my dad seventeen years ago after responding to an ad promising a room for rent. She'd been in college and needed an affordable place to live, and he had one. Apparently neither one of them foresaw a relationship between them, but you wouldn't know that to see them together now. They can barely keep their hands off each other. I can't imagine what it was like back then.

In fact, I actively try not to. Imagine . . . _that_.

They've offered several times to tell me about her. Irina. The woman who gave birth to me. But I've refused. I don't know if other people who are in a situation similar to mine would've made the same decision, but the way I view it, she may have given me life, but she didn't give me _a _life. There's a big difference in my books.

I appreciate that Irina gave my dad the choice to raise me himself, but what I appreciate even more is that my mom, who was twenty at the time—which is only two years older than I will be next month—selflessly stepped forward and raised me as her own.

When you hear stories of children learning that they've been adopted—or that one of the parents that's raised them their entire lives shares no genetic markers with them, as is my case—you usually hear about the unpleasant reactions; the screaming and yelling, or the rebellion against the parents who could just as easily "give them away" like their birth mother.

Not me, though.

Not once did I ever feel unloved or unwanted by her. In fact, up until she got pregnant with my sister, Toni, I wasn't even fully certain. Sure, I'd suspected based on bits and pieces of the conversation I'd pick up here and there, but I was barely seven, so I don't think I fully understood it.

But I understand now, and I don't feel as though meeting Irina will enrich my life any. She gave me up, and my mom raised me as her own. That's all I need to know.

When I fell off my bike when I was seven and scraped my knee, Irina wasn't there to wash it, bandage it, and kiss it better before offering me a big bowl of ice cream. My mom was. Irina wasn't around to help me with my homework all throughout middle-school. My mom was.

Was I curious about her? Irina? Maybe a little, but that curiosity never manifested itself into a stronger emotion that would have had me asking questions. As far as I was concerned, I had everything I needed in the parents who raised me. And that was more than enough for me.

Sure, we've had our differences—I'm a seventeen-year-old boy who wants to go to parties and do stupid shit with my friends—but we've always been able to meet somewhere in the middle.

Most of the time.

People often wonder if I was worried about my place in my mother's heart when Toni arrived, but the simple answer is: no. I wasn't worried in the least, because not once did my mom ever pull away or withdraw emotionally. She's always been sure to include me and has been open communicatively. Not once did I ever see her favour Toni—her biological child—over me. Had I, well then, I think I'd be a whole different person than I am today.

When Mom and Dad told Toni and me that they were looking to adopt another child, well, we were both ecstatic. It never once concerned me that I might not feel like this child was my true sibling based on who gave birth to him or her, because my mom had proven that it isn't blood that makes you a family; it's love.

Of course, then we found out that Dad was adopted by Grandma and Grandpa Cullen, which totally threw Toni and me for a loop. We'd had no idea, because there just weren't any indications that their relationship with our father was anything less than biological. Naturally, this only further cemented what we'd already known from how we were raised.

Zee joining our family was amazing. And the fact that I was only twelve and thought this had to mean that my parents did something right, doesn't it? I felt this deep-rooted connection to Zee the minute I held her for the first time. It wasn't that I loved her any more than Toni, because I didn't; it was just that I empathized with what she might feel or go through when the time came that she understood how she came to be with us.

It wouldn't be like it was for me. Not exactly. Zee's skin was a shade darker given her biological mother was a native of South Africa—where Zee was from—while her biological father was Caucasian. She'd eventually make the connection, and I wanted to be there for her as much as my parents would be to let her know that I understood and was there if she needed someone to talk to.

At five, she's been informed. Not because any one person said anything to her or anything, but because my parents didn't believe in withholding this information. She comprehends what they've told her to a degree, and that's okay. My parents will take it one day at a time like they did with me, and Zee will be the better for it.

"Okay," I announce, grabbing my breakfast plate and juice glass from my spot at the table. "You girls ready to head out?"

Toni looks at me, her warm brown eyes narrowing in confusion as she pushes her straight brown hair behind her shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

Mom smiles at her, standing up and clearing her and Zee's plates as well. "Masen is taking you guys to school today," she tells them.

Zee's eyes light up and she claps her hands excitedly. "Yay!" she exclaims before making up a song about me driving her to school.

Dad helps Mom clear the table as the girls grab their lunches off the counter, stopping to kiss our parents before we head out the door. Before following them, I kiss Mom on the cheek and tell them both to have a great day, and then I take the girls out to my car and we're on our way.

The girls are in the backseat, Zee still singing her made-up song about the car ride to school, and Toni is playing on her iPod, totally engrossed in whatever game the kids find popular nowadays. Before I take the girls to school, I head over to Grandma and Grandpa Swan's house to pick up Claire—who's less than a day older than me, but technically my aunt . . . not that I call her this, even if she teases me relentlessly that I should "out of respect."

Thankfully, I know she's only joking.

Just like every day, the minute I pull to a stop outside her house, she exits the front door, yelling goodbye to her parents as she bounds down the front steps and hops into the passenger seat.

"Hey!" she exclaims, buckling up and turning to see the girls in the backseat. "You guys decided to tag along this morning?"

Zee nods emphatically. "Uh huh! Masen's drivin' us to school, Auntie Claire!"

"How exciting, peanut," Claire placates.

Zafrina giggles, just like every time Claire calls her this. "I'm not a peanut! I'm Zafrina!"

Claire plops her school bag on her lap, and I put the car into drive and pull back onto the street.

"Damn it!" Toni cries out from the back seat, surprising Claire and I both.

"Language, Toni!" we both exclaim in unison. While neither of us is entirely innocent when it comes to our language, there's something so very wrong with a ten-year-old cursing. Even if it is one of the minor ones.

Through the rear-view mirror, I watch her shrink back into her seat, her eyes finding mine, apologetic. "Sorry," she whispers. "But I forgot my backpack and my homework is in there. I don't want to get a failing grade, and my stupid teacher won't believe me if I tell him I did it but forgot it at home."

I look at the time on the dash and notice that we're going to be cutting it extremely close if we have to head back home. I'm confident the girls will get to school on time, but I'm sure Claire and I will be a little late.

I decide to make that sacrifice and turn the car around, heading home. While I know Grandpa Swan would likely kick my ass if he knew—and rat me out to my parents who would also kick my ass—I drive a little over the posted speed limit in hopes to be a little less late than we'll already be.

When I pull to a stop outside the house, I hear Toni unbuckle as I do, and I turn to her and shake my head. "No, Toni. You stay here. I'll run in and grab it. It'll be quicker. Where did you leave it?"

She thinks about this for a second. "Um, in the kitchen. By the table."

With this knowledge, I bolt from the car and to the front door. I slip my key into the lock and disengage it before running through it and into the kitchen. What I see stops me cold, and I really fucking wish I hadn't seen it.

While I don't want to go into detail for fear of throwing up every last ounce of my breakfast, I can't get the image of my mother with her skirt pushed up around her hips and her shirt pulled down around her arms, exposing her chest to my father, on the counter, while he's pressed firmly between her legs doing . . . you know what? I can't even think it, so I really hope it's crystal fucking clear what they're doing without me having to explain it.

They must have heard my sneakers squeak on the tile, because their heads snap toward me, eyes wide and panicked as the noises they were both making cease entirely. I'm certain they don't remain in that position for long—even though it feels like an eternity—and soon my dad steps away, hiding from view behind the kitchen island while my mom quickly tugs her shirt back on and slips to the floor, pushing her hair from her reddening face.

"Mase," she squeaks breathlessly, which only serves to remind me about . . .

I shake the disturbing image from my mind as best I can and avert my eyes toward the table, spotting Toni's backpack next to her chair. "I'm sorry." Yeah, I apologize, though I'm not entirely sure I should be the one apologizing since I'm pretty sure I'm going to be seeking therapy for this shit. "Toni forgot her backpack. I didn't think . . . that is to say . . . God! Don't you guys have a bedroom?!"

Hey, I'm not proud of it; I spoke without really thinking. Can you blame me? My brain is currently trying to permanently delete the last few minutes.

"We thought you weren't going to be back until after school," is Mom's weak excuse. I can see that she's embarrassed—so is Dad as he works to redress himself quickly—but I'm horrified! Yes, I know that they're adults and that they have urges . . . even if those urges are something I refuse to ever think about. It's a part of life. I get that. It doesn't mean I need front row seats! Good lord! Does she not realize that we _eat_ and sometimes prepare our food there? Gross!

Before I can give it any more thought, I snatch up Toni's forgotten backpack and make to leave the room.

"Masen, wait." I can tell she wants to explain their actions, but honestly, I don't think I need to hear it. What they do on their own time is between them . . . or, at least, it used to be.

I shake my head, refusing to meet their eyes. "It's okay. Really. It, uh . . . it was an honest mistake. It's natural and you're married. I get it. I should go. Now," I ramble, unable to stop.

I hear their muffled whispers as I rush for the front door and out to my car, tossing Toni her backpack between the front seats. I sit there for a minute, unable to move while I silently grip the wheel. I'm trying so hard to push what I just saw from my mind, but unfortunately it's been burned into my corneas.

Through my periphery, I notice Claire watching me. I've heard her complain enough about this sort of thing at her own house—which is possibly even more disturbing because her parents are my _grandparents._

What the hell is in the water in this damn town?

Then, she inhales sharply, covering her mouth—but not before I notice it's turning up into a smile. "Oh my god!" she cries. "You walked in on them, didn't you?"

My head snaps to hers before glancing toward the girls in the backseat, then back to Claire, telling her with a stern look to shut the hell up.

Claire laughs heartily, while Toni looks between us, completely confused. "What did you walk in on?" she inquires as Zee, bored with what's going on, starts singing another song she made up, and I put the car into drive.

I shake my head, pulling away from the curb and heading toward Toni's school. "Uh, nothing." I look back at her through the mirror before mumbling, "I'm just glad I asked you to stay in the car."

Claire snickers again, and I elbow her. Hard.

I remember hearing Mom tell Claire that it's not a horrible thing to know your parents love each other after so many years, and at the time I could understand that . . .

Now? Well, let's just say that's not a view I ever want to be privy to again.

**THE END**

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><p><strong>AN2: Thanks to everyone who stuck with me through this story. I know it took a turn that no one was really expecting, but it was a story I've wanted to tell for a long time. While I know I lost a few readers, I'm grateful for those of you who stuck it out even though you were worried, and I loved that you came around.**

**HUGE thanks to my amazing Betas, tds88 and TwiMarti. Without them, IDK that I'd have finished the story after all the backlash and name-calling. It's true. I've yet to abandon a story, but it was touch-and-go for a while during this one.**

**Stay tuned for more stories by me! I'm currently working on a story called "Forgive me, Father, for I will Sin." It's a much Olderward story (20+ year age gap ;)) and I'm having a lot of fun with them! If you'd like or haven't already, please come check it out!**


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